Lips of an Angel
by Cupid's Knight
Summary: Quinn is an assassin working for the League, an organization that works with the police to punish criminals. When she saves Rachel Berry from a certain death, she must protect her with her life... at all costs. Assassin!Quinn and Broadway!Rachel
1. Chapter 1

**...okay, so...**

**This is what happens when I think about my Faberry stories while playing Assassin's Creed...**

**So give it a shot... :)**

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><p>Running in the middle of the night, feet pounding the pavement as she flew down the streets. Her lungs burnt, but she wouldn't give up; she had to catch this guy once and for all. Hands tightly curled into powerful fists as she ran, her mind working in overtime; nonsensical words flew around in her brain as the wind whipped her blonde locks around her head. <em>Murder suspect... Raped and killed single mom and two kids... Ages 5 and 2... Between the hours of 01:25 and 01:45 am... <em>Mom was 27-year-old Sasha Jameson, with 5-year-old daughter Raine and 2-year-old Duncan.

She had read the file; she had seen the pictures... She had seen the children's bodies, lying on their bedroom floor. _Duncan... COD: asphyxia; TOD: 01:27 am... Raine... COD: strangulation; TOD: 01:27 am... Found semen samples in girl's mouth and vaginal cavity... Hymen intact..._

_Sasha... COD: blunt force trauma to the head and spinal cord... Spine broken, hemorrhaging and swelling in the brain; ribcage shattered, punctured lungs; torn vaginal and anal tissue, semen sample in anal and vaginal cavities... Went into coma at 01:36; TOD: 01:40._

The fucking bastard had Sasha witness her children's deaths and Raine's abuse... But why? Why would he kill them first while she watched and then kill her? Revenge? Punishment? Sadistic need? It doesn't matter why... All that matters is the fact he did it, and the blonde wasn't going to stop until he was brought to justice.

She could feel the muscles in her legs begging her to stop running, but she couldn't give up, she was determined to catch this guy before he hurt anyone else. That was her duty; her duty to herself, and to the League. She couldn't let them down, not when she had come this far... Quickly climbing up in the ranks of the League, Fantôme, the name that the League had given her, built her reputation as the best of them from the ground up... She wasn't going to let her comrades down.

As she neared the corner, a dark shadow was thrown onto the streets, the silhouette speeding away from her. Her hazels widened as she pushed her legs to go faster, to get her to the murderer within the next minute. Her legs obeyed in an instant, taking her across the empty abyss of the streets in scarce seconds. Her ears caught the strained breathing of the guy running in front of her, his head swiveling around, looking for a hole to crawl into and disappear.

Fantôme snarled quietly, her face twisted into a raging mask of blinded determination. She ran faster and tackled the guy to the pavement as he turned the corner into an alleyway. He was big, about 6'8 and 204 pounds, muscles inhabiting every plane of his body; the blonde still took him down with a powerful lunge, easily landing on top of his wriggling body.

"Let me go! Please let me go! I'll do anything, but please let me live!" Just hearing this swine begging for his life made her blood boil in her veins, her anger turning into fiery, molten rage as the murders of Sasha Jameson and her two little kids screamed for retaliation and revenge. This was her duty: she, along with her comrades in the League, avenged people that have been done wrong by punishing their wrongdoers. _An eye for an eye..._ thought Fantôme, as she pulled down her weapons case.

Knives glinted wickedly in the silvery rays of moonlight. She had everything from terrifying butcher's knives to small, surgical scalpels... Daggers, silver poison darts, bow and arrows, guns, swords... Any weapon available to the blonde, she was an expert on how to use them to her advantage. Hand to hand combat was also in her arsenal: Tae Kwon Do, Hapkido, Judo, Karate, Green Beret training, Systema (Russian martial arts), Aikido, Savate (French kickboxing), boxing, and even mixed martial arts. Her body was an expertly trained weapon that she would use at any time she got, but this was not the case.

She pulled out a small needle loaded with a powerful paralyzer. She pushed his head aside with a forceful push of her hand, uncovering his jugular. Placing the sharp tip of the needle at her desired point of entry, she bent her head down to his ear. "This will sting... A lot." she whispered into his ear, feeling the fear coursing through him as tremors and sobs wracked his body. Her hand pushed the needle into his neck, his neck muscles spasming as his head thrashed around the pavement.

Fantôme felt his body shake before going limp, his movements slowing as the paralyzer took effect. She grabbed him by his armpits, feeling the sweat soaking his T-shirt. Using all the strength in her body, she tugged him into the alleyway, propping him up against the wall. "That was a paralyzer; it quickly latches onto your blood cells and makes its way to every part of your body. You can't move, you can't speak, but you will..." she slapped him hard across the face, before digging her knee into his crotch, "...feel everything I do to you. You will pay for what you did to Sasha Jameson and her kids. I'm not going to be as merciful." She took her knee off his crotch before taking out a scalpel, the small blade winking darkly at him in the shadows of the alley.

With quick, controlled flicks of her wrist, she cut away the portion of his jeans that covered his crotch. Whimpering, his eyes could do nothing but jump fearfully from her face to the blade to a random point in the background of their scene. A tug at his boxers pulled his eyes back to his manly pride; a pair of tweezers held the cloth captive as the scalpel cut through it as if it were made of air. His limp penis came into view as the hole the blonde was cutting came full-circle.

She took a medium-sized carving knife, and twirling it in her hand, she uttered quietly but clearly, so he could understand. "This is what's going to happen: I'm going to take this knife and cut your balls off, then I'm going to slice your dick in half, vertically. I'll think of some other methods of torture, but I'll keep those a surprise." She slapped him in the shoulder, faking amiability. She started, his eyes showed his fear, and as she started to cut through the skin, his nerve endings exposed and on fire, his pain reflected through his eyes.

"This is only a fraction of the pain you put Sasha Jameson and her children through. Trust me, for you, it'll be much worse." Fantôme's eyes had a wicked gleam of insanity; he tried to cower in fear, but his body felt numb and heavy, and getting worse with each passing second. He watched in muted horror as one bloody testicle fell away from his body, was grabbed by a gloved hand and placed neatly in a bag. He felt the searing pain of the knife cutting away at his remaining nut, and he tried with all his might to move and get away from this crazy blonde.

She chuckled darkly at his obvious attempt to move, the frantic movement of his stormy and fearful eyes could mean nothing more than the innate, instinctual need for self-preservation. "I'm sorry to say that not a lot of women are into the whole eunuch thing... So I'll make it easier on you; I'm gonna have my fun and then I'm gonna kill you. The liberation of your bloodstained soul will repay the untimely departure of the souls of Sasha Jameson and her children, and whomever else that suffered the same fate at your hands. The balance will be restored with your death." His eyes jumped from hazel orb to hazel orb in front of him, trying to understand what the fuck was coming out of this psychotic blonde's mouth.

He had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't feel his remaining testicle being tugged and pulled away from his crotch. He did feel the burn of alcohol poured into the open wounds, and his body instinctively tried to convulse with pained spasms without the desired result. He watched in rapt terror as his penis was pulled straight with the tweezers and then cut in half with the knife, just as the blonde had promised she would do.

Nimble fingers grabbed eight small knives, each about two fingers wide and as long as a toddler's arm. Fantôme pulled his left arm up to be parallel to the floor and shoved one knife into his shoulder, one through his bicep, one through his forearm and one through his hand, all pushed into the brick wall behind it. He felt his eyes sting with the pained tears that wanted to fall but his muscles couldn't respond and therefore he couldn't cry. She did the same thing to his right arm, nailing it to the wall.

A wooden baseball bat caught her eye, and she went to pick it up, weighing it and taking a few testing swings. Satisfied with the bat, she went back to where the guy was, almost delirious with pain and fear and hoping to pass out soon. Fantôme slapped him, "Hey, man, I need you awake. This won't be much longer, and then you can sleep." She backed away from him, and measured the necessary distance from where she was standing to where he was sitting.

It was close enough, and she brought the bat up to her shoulder, an evil twinkle in her eyes. "I think you can guess what I'm gonna do now, right?" She smiled lightly, before continuing, "Of course you can, you're a smart fella. Too bad you weren't smart enough to make a good life for yourself instead of committing to one of crime." She sneered before grabbing the baseball bat with both hands and swinging with all her might, her torso twisting with the action and giving it more torque to drive into the left side of his ribcage.

A satisfying crack was heard and Fantôme smirked at the obvious pain in the man's eyes. She switched sides and wasted no time in repeating her previous action. Both see of ribs broken, she knelt down to feel the results. Not too bad. "Here's the skinny: your ribs are all broken, two pierced your left lung and one pierced your right lung. So I'm gonna take you out of your misery right now." she stood over him again, before swinging the bat at his head, cracking his skull. To make sure he was dead, she pulled out one of the knives holding his arm and quickly slit his throat.

Letting his head loll to the side, covering the wound, Fantôme pulled out the rest of the knives. The paralyzer was quick to leave the body once it started to bleed so she didn't need to worry about anyone finding out any trace of it. She cleaned the blood off of her blades and placed them back into the case. She knelt beside the body one last time and searched the pockets of his jeans. Finding his wallet, she picked it up and searched through the contents.

His Alabama driver's license said his name was Matthew Collins, resident of Montgomery. How he came to be in New York wasn't Fantôme's job to figure out. She grabbed the thirty or so loose dollars that he had on him, leaving the rest inside the wallet. Reaching into her coat she pulled out a small white card with a black stenciled L, and placed it on top of the body. _My job here is done, the police will know what to do next, _Quinn thought as she walked away from the scene into the early morning darkness of the New York streets.

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><p><strong>And, of course, shoot me a review if you feel like telling me I should drop this... or continue<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, so you guys said yes to this Assassin's Creed/Faberry mix-up story. So this is the second chapter :)**

**For those of you that know the game or have seen it being played, Quinn is Ezio and the League is the Brotherhood (if you hadn't figured that out yet).**

**I forgot the disclaimer last chapter, so here it is for the rest of the stroy: Assassin's Creed and Glee are not mine... they're only my inspiration :)**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>Reaching into her coat pocket to pull out the keys to her apartment, Quinn reached the door with her hand in her pocket and lightly thumped her head against the door. She always forgot her... Are you Quinn Fabray?" A rich and deep masculine voice reached her ears, and she turned her head to look at this person. Tall, tan, and a broad wall of muscle, with sandy blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and a smooth shaven face; he could've been someone she would flirt with, and then sleep with, maybe even dated if she really liked him. But he was the wrong gender for her to do all that.<p>

"Yes, that'd be me. What can I help you with?" His eyes roamed over her form, and what a sight she must be; dried blood on her jeans and splattered all over her shirt and arms, pink-streaked blonde hair ruffled about by the wind, mud caked on her sneakers. He still looked at her like something he'd eat slowly, savoring each juicy bite. He snapped out of his thoughts when she pointedly cleared her throat, reaching his big hand out to her.

Quinn noticed a handful of envelopes held together by what appeared to be strong fingers, scarred and calloused by years of manual labor. "These were in my mailbox. After checking out the name and address, and cross-checking that they weren't for me, I decided to get them to you. I'm Michael, by the way. Michael Ferdinand Richards, the third... Maybe you've heard of me?" He flashed her a cocky smile, full of sparkling white and straight teeth.

She shook her head in the negative and his smile fell off his face. He swallowed tightly and smiled again, trying instead for charming. "Not everyone has heard of me. It's mostly my father they know, since he's the head of our multimillion dollar company." She still knew not of who he was blabbering about, so she gave him his goodbye. With a strong hand, she grabbed her mail and pulled it free of his fingers, but he didn't relent.

He stepped forward, forcing her against the wall behind her, and put a hand up beside her face, his free hand going around her waist and pulling her lower body against his. "Well, since returning your mail is obviously not going to get me anywhere, how about we try the direct approach? You're hot, and I want to fuck you until you're hoarse from screaming my name; how about we take this to your bed since it's closer?" His lustful gaze and cocky smirk repulsed her, and his groin pushing against her made her want to vomit.

Moving her head to the side when he tried to kiss her, her fighting training kicked in. She brought her knee up and hard against his crotch, and he howled in pain. Doubling over, she cradled his head and rammed her knee against his face, hearing the satisfying crunch from the cartilage of his nose breaking with the force her knee had applied. He screamed and brought his hands to his face, forgetting about his busted balls.

Blood dripped onto the polished wooden floor, escaping from between his fingers. She picked up her fallen mail and turned back to the pained man. "Thank you, Mr. Richards, for bringing me my mail. Now, please leave. I don't want your blood to be the first thing I see when I step out of my apartment, and I don't think the person that has to clean this building will be too happy about it, either." Her frosty gaze might as well have turned him to ice.

Picking up what was left of his dignity, Michael limped away, one hand cupping himself and the other catching the blood still pouring from his nose. He glared daggers at her as he passed her by, stumbling slowly down the steps. Quinn huffed a breath and turned to the door of her apartment, taking out the key and turning the lock.

Stepping inside, she was grateful for the large amounts of money the League provided all of their assassins with. Throwing her keys onto the little table beside the door, she sifted through her mail. _Bills, bills, bills... Letters from Antoine, letter from... Eochair? What could this be? _She quickly skimmed over her bills, and left the letters from her friend Antoine unopened for later. Grabbing the thin white envelope from Eochair between both hands, as if it contained the answers to all the questions of the universe. Turning it over, her hazel eyes fell on the signature black stenciled L. _This must be something big if the League are contacting me, or all of us, personally. _She carefully opened the envelope, and breathed a sigh of relief when she read the first entry lines.

_Dear Fantôme:_

_We want to congratulate you on the splendid work you have done for the League. As a reward, we have chosen to up your monthly allowance by $5000 dollars, and promote you to Elite Assassin, the most prized position that only few achieve in their lifetime. You are now able to stand in the meetings led by the heads of the League and make choices with us as well. But beware your newly achieved power, for most people will want to get it for themselves._

_Wishing you the best,_

_Eochair, fifth head of the League_

Quinn smiled lightly; an added $5000 dollars to her already high allowance and a promotion to Elite Assassin, plus being able to be at the Heads' Meetings and speak her opinion about things... This was big. But now she was a target as well; people within the League could achieve ranks by proving themselves deserving of it, or the low choice: killing someone and obtain their position as a benefit.

The League didn't play with things like these. This was an organization of the most skilled assassins, people that knew their profession like the back of their hands. If you got killed, it meant that you weren't deserving to stand in that position. Many have tried Acclaim by Murder, but only a few had been successful. A one out of ten thousand chance of achieving rank this way, and lots of people still tried to accomplish it. This wasn't looked at as betrayal of the League, or jealousy or envy or greed. This was looked at as ambition and determination to keep going forward.

But Quinn was known as the best of them; only a dimwit would try to kill her. The rules of this were, if you successfully killed the person in rank, you got the rank. But if you failed, then the former target had the choice of killing you or sparing you, at the latter decision you owed your life to them.

The League valued ambition, commitment, discipline, and determination in any one person; within their own, they also valued compassion and mercy. To be a great assassin in the eyes of the League, you must know who to spear and who to spare. And Quinn knew this decision to be hard, since she had done it once and it had backfired on her.

The guy she was supposed to kill for raping and impregnating then murdering a fourteen year old had been spared by her hand; then he had gone and killed her family and her friends, then proceeded to set her house and school on fire. Everything she had known and cherished was gone in a flash. Her parents, her sister, her boyfriend, her friends... Everything gone because of a rookie mistake and a horrid call in judgement. A mistake that she wouldn't repeat; she couldn't afford to trust these guys.

Placing Eochair's letter down on the table, holding it down with her keys. She picked up the letters from Antoine and opened the one that was dated to be the first one he had written. He took it out and read through it. Jean-Antoine St. Michel, a.k.a Kapmes, was Quinn's old friend from the League and he was currently traveling around the world following the trace of a serial killer... The same serial killer that had murdered his parents and his little sister while Jean-Antoine himself watched as it was done.

This first letter was written while he had been in Russia, Chelyabinsk to be more precise. He told her about how close he had been to capturing Brandon Travis, his target, and how the sneaky son of a bitch had eluded him. The one afterwards, written about ten days after the first one, was from Luhansk, a small city in Ukraine. Here, Antoine wrote, he got in a fight with his target almost killed him but the dude had caused a distraction that had gotten Antoine into big trouble with the authorities, giving himself enough time to run away.

The third was dated sixteen days after the close encounter in Ukraine; written in scrawled, nearly illegible handwriting, Quinn managed to figure out that the letter was written in code, a columnar transposition with a Caesar shift of 7. Not easy to decipher, but Quinn managed to, nonetheless. where Antoine had been: Györ, Hungary, along the northern border of the country. In this one, Antoine had found out he was being tailed by someone, and his instincts had led him to confronting his tail.

The man was confirmed to be a rogue assassin of the League, having skipped out on them after his plan to kill the Heads and take over the League had been found out and frozen by the intervention of the rest of the assassins. Having killed a handful of them in a bloody battle that is still commemorated to this day, Andrew Zuromskis had fled the country and had been hiding from the several pursuers the League had thrown on his trail. Sparing him after a fierce fight, Antoine had managed to hold him long enough for another assassin to take him out of his hands.

The fourth letter had apparently been in some sort of accident since it was rumpled and the handwriting was completely indecipherable, no matter what Quinn did. The long strokes of the letters and the smudged lead all over the paper meant someone must've intercepted it, read it and purposefully obscured it, sending it back on its way.

The fifth was dated almost two months after the third one, since the fourth one had no readable date. It was short, only a couple of lines but it filled Quinn with a warm sense of pride. The letter read:

_Dear Fantôme:_

_I got him._

_Kepmas_

They have been instructed to use their code names in every kind of written or messaging contacts they maintained in case someone intercepted it, their identities would not be placed in jeopardy, and their messages were to be as vague as possible. If that couldn't be done, the letter would have to be encoded, the key hidden inside the letter itself and then deciphered once the letter arrived to its designated owner.

Placing the letters down on the living room coffee table and stretching out on her incredibly comfortable couch, she thought about the fourth letter, mulling its illegible state over. Obviously someone had gotten to it first, but who and what could've that letter contained that this person didn't want her or the League to know about? Running her sharp hazel eyes over the fourth letter, she caught its slightly mangled aspect and pulled it out from its place in the pile.

The edges were slightly rumpled, like when the hand that holds it starts to sweat and the paper gets damp. Whomever read it first had tried to smooth it back out so the rumple was almost unnoticeable but while doing that, the hand had gotten a paper cut; a rusty brown edge confirmed this speculation to be true. Quinn narrowed her eyes, she had to figure out who had gotten to this letter first ad why they had erased it.

Her phone rang, taking her out of her thoughts. She placed the letters back in their respective envelopes, leaving them on the table; she'd go to the League Headquarters, and try to get someone in Intelligence to help her out. Turning back around, she waited for a second or two. Her ears perked up when she didn't hear anything. Her instincts kicked in; her phone usually didn't stop ringing until it either got to voicemail or she picked up the call. And she had another phone that was intended for League business only, and that one hadn't been called.

She remained frozen, and her muscles tightened when she heard the unmistakeable creak of someone carefully and quietly walking up the stairs. Whomever this was, they didn't want her to know they were coming. Quickly and soundlessly, she shuffled to her kitchen which had a good view of the front door while it was simultaneously hidden from anyone standing at that same threshold. The screech of several metallic objects being forced together was crystal clear in the silence of the apartment, and the definite click of her lock being turned had her senses going into overdrive, a rush of adrenaline already pumping by the gallons in her veins.

The knob was turned as Quinn waited for the intruder to make it into the apartment. Taking a quick peek from around the corner, the door was still closed but the brassy handle was being slowly turned. Her front door was slowly pushed open as if the intruder didn't want any sudden movements to attract attention, either hers or some bystander's. The click of a cocked and ready gun was heard seconds before the intruder walked in. Clad in a black, long sleeved muscle shirt, black sweatpants, gloves, boots and a sky mask, the prominent figure walked in. Her opponent had their back towards her, pointing the gun at the door of her bedroom, where they thought she might be. Form his broad back and muscular physique, she could assume her assailant was a guy, probably 6"3, and about 205 lbs of pure muscle. From the little sliver between the edge of the sky mask and the crew neck of his shirt, he was of Caucasian descent, his skin a tad darker than her own but covered in freckles, probable proof of prolonged sunlight exposure.

He kept walking with his back to the wall, unknowingly in her direction, his eyes and gun still trained to the bedroom door, which was closed. She looked around her slowly, searching for a weapon. Fortunately, she was close enough to her knife stand that she only had to pull one out. She did so quietly, the stainless steel weapon not even brushing against the wooden stand it was in. When Quinn noticed that her intruder was basically in front of her, she placed the knife at his neck, her voice dripping danger. "Who the hell are you and why the fuck are you in my home?"

Her intruder stopped in his tracks, clicking the safety of the firearm, afterwards dropping it and putting his hands up. He stood still for quite some time, Quinn not talking for his 'I surrender' trick; decision that proved to be right when he dropped into a roll, grabbed his gun and shot three times in her direction. Quinn, being who she was, had predicted this to happen and had dropped and changed locations as soon as she saw him dropping.

Quinn brought out her killer instincts, literally as well as metaphorically. She knew where he'd try to get her easiest: the kitchen entryway. He had a clear shot to her from that point so she decided to close that vantage point. She rolled behind the kitchen island without him noticing and when he tried to move to the entryway, she pushed everything that was on the surface of the island onto the entryway, easily blocking his path.

The clatter of countless objects falling onto the shiny wooden floor covered her shuffling, moving to her original position, from where she had a clear shot to the entryway and him. Grabbing the long, thin knife by the blade, she prepared to throw it when she had her target. Seeing his gun first followed slowly by the rest of his body, she launched the knife like a heat seeking missile, hitting her intended target straight on. The gun clattered to the floor as sky-mask dude held his hand, which now sported a cut that was deep and bleeding profusely. Jumping up and over the kitchen counter, she landed a roundhouse kick against his jaw, throwing him off balance.

But not by much; he regained his stance and brought his hands up in a boxer's fighting stance, tight gloved fists protecting his face and his elbows close to his body, protecting his ribs. Her own hands were in a different fighting stance: palms open, hands relaxed with one at her solar plexus, the other one facing down and somewhat outstretched. Using all different styles of fighting that she knew was always her best bet at beating any opponent. There was always something her opponents didn't know which she used to beat them.

Bulky dude sent a strong punch towards her, which she easily redirected by pushing it aside with her outstretched and bringing her foot up at the same time, landing a powerful push kick against his gut. He lost his balance for three seconds, giving her enough time to try for a second kick. Turning quickly, she lashed out with a wheel kick, hitting him on the side of the face with her heel. Even the most trained fighter would have no chance against such a painful and well-placed kick to the temple. Her opponent groaned before slumping to the ground breathing heavily, obviously disoriented and quickly losing conscience.

Quinn dragged the unconscious man to the couch, her muscles straining under the man's weight and she was feeling like they would tear at any second. She propped him up against the couch, carefully pushing his head up, removing his mask and inspecting the rapidly bruising skin of his temple. She walked to the kitchen, getting some ice and wrapping it in a towel. She walked back to where her unconscious intruder was, and pressed the ice against his temple.

She looked at him and frowned, her eyes searching every inch of his face. Who was this guy? And what did he want with her? She didn't see any recognizable trace that jumped out and called to her memory; not the jagged and deep scar splitting his left eyebrow, not the crooked slope of his nose, not the bow of his thin lips, not the intricate tattoo on his neck, or the missing piece of his left ear. If she couldn't find anyone familiar in that pale face, why did she feel like she knew him from somewhere?

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><p><strong>Tell me what you guys think... REVIEW!<strong>

**The code names for the assassins are random words translated into different languages:**

**Quinn's name is Fantôme, which is French for Shadow or Ghost  
>Antoine's name is Kapmes, which is Afrikkans for Machete<br>****Eochair is Irish for Key**

**If you guys have names for some more assassins, shoot me a review or PM me the name and the language you want it translated to. I'll give you a shout out if your name is in the chapter :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, shit! One chapter after the other, I'm on a roll! :)**

**For those of you waiting on the next chapter of PoW, don't worry, I'm getting there and it will be up soon. Faberry sex is always a good thing, so I gotta make it spectacular :D**

**A shout out, as promised, to Chopin44 who was the only one that wanted assassins in this story. Their introductions in this chapter, as well as Brittana's and... Rachel's. Next few chapters will be the developing relationship of Faberry.**

**This one has kind of a sadder tune to it, I'm not good with angst and hurt since I personally like happy, romantic, lovey-dovey stuff. It will be a precursor to why Quinn and Rachel's relationship in the beginning will be... strained at best.**

**Enjoy this chapter :)**

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><p>Without taking her eyes off of his face, Quinn stood up and reached for her phone. Her fingers dialed a very familiar number, not needing her eyes for the very simple task. Putting the phone up to her ear, the dial tone rang once and was picked up. "<em>Hello?<em>" A slightly out of breath female voice reached Quinn's ear, making her quirk her eyebrow and smirk at what this girl had been doing that had her fighting for oxygen.

"Hey, Zane. What were you doing? You sound like you just ran trans-Siberian cross country, swam across the Pacific Ocean and ran across the country and got home just now to pick up the phone." Quinn's smirk was heard through the phone, and she smiled even bigger when Zane heaved a sigh. A second voice reached Quinn's ears, and she bit her lip to keep a laugh from coming out. "_Baby, who is that? Come back to bed, Zane, I'm cold and I need you to warm me up._" Blonde eyebrows jumped high enough to hide in her hairline.

"Is that... Zane, is that... You dog!" Quinn chuckled at Zane's nervous laugh and at the quiet _'This is a private conversation'_ that was growled out and the irritated huff that followed it. The slam of a door seemed close enough to Quinn that she had to check her unconscious, if not dead, intruder was still propped against the couch, the damp towel and melting ice untouched on his face. "_What do you want, Fantôme? It's Sunday, and I'm not in the mood for an unnecessary sparring match in which I'll get my ass kicked... again._" She frowned at that barely hid complaint; they had only sparred twice, and although both times Quinn had won, Zane had held her own.

"No, it's not that, Z. I have a little... make that a big problem, and since you're savvy with a computer maybe you can come to my place and help me out with this." Quinn frowned when she caught a slight movement proceeding from her supposedly out cold opponent. She griped the phone tighter in her hand, her brain registering what was being said from the other end of the conversation.

Her eyes moved all over his form, and her eyes widened when his movement was more pronounced. "Please, just get here as soon as you can." Her clipped tone left no room for arguments, and even if Zane wanted to protest, Quinn had already ended the call. Grabbing the knife from the floor, she placed its blade against the jugular of the obviously groggy guy.

He flinched when he felt the cool metal at his neck, and brought his steely gray eyes up to her face, jaw clenched and kept his body still, his body language easily telling her that he wasn't going to try anything. Her hand moved away from his neck, but the knife was tightly held in it, her knuckles white from the pressure being exerted. Her hazels looked at him fiercely and he smiled ruefully, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, Assassin's word. Besides, you're Fantôme. I don't even think I could in the first place."

A loud banging on her door had her turning towards it, and quickly back to her hostage. He only put his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, and she moved to the door, opening it and finding a bright pair of striking, soulful blue pools framed by immaculately pale skin and midnight tresses that fell in waves past her shoulders.

Abigail Reiner, or Zane, was a skilled assassin; her knowledge of poisons was far above anyone else's in the League and that made her a priceless fighter to have. The electric manipulator that Zane herself had invented was also a kick ass weapon; a glove that fit like a second skin on her hand, Zane could kill anyone with a well-placed punch to the heart.

Technologically savvy, Zane could've helped Quinn figure out who her captive was, if Quinn herself hadn't established some sort of communicative bridge between her and the guy currently sitter at her couch. Both girls stopped, and Zane face-palmed as the guy smirked at them both before laughing heartily. Quinn looked between a rapidly blushing Zane and the widely-smirking man, something tickling the back of her brain. "Hey, sis. How are you? I haven't talked to you in a long time."

Wait, what? Then she saw it; the same height and shape of their cheekbones, same round chin and square jawline. The shape of their eyes was exactly the same although their eyes were different colors. "You two... are siblings?" She couldn't place it; Zane was curvy and soft, small framed, toned but not overtly muscled; the guy was broad, his body consisted of flat planes and hard muscles. They had nothing in common besides the few physical facial features she had named.

"Yeah, this _bulky idiot_ is my big brother Drew, or Napadač. He was recruited by the League when he turned 18, and I hadn't seen him since, until now that is. What is he doing here, anyways? How did you find him, Quinn?" Blue eyes shifted to her, and she frowned at the implication. "I didn't find him, I didn't even know who he was before you told me. He broke into my home and attacked me, after I knocked him out, is when I called you." Her eyes widened before she smirked, "So, who was that? Who were you with?" Zane blushed even harder, and Drew's guffaw rattled the windows. "Oh, little Abby has a boyfriend?"

She flipped him off while glaring angrily at Quinn, who had a Cheshire smirk on her face. "Well, now that you know who he is, I'm free to leave right? You don't have anything else for me to do." She turned to walk out but Quinn held her arm firmly.. "Nonsense, I actually do have something for you. I received these," she walked to the table that held Antoine's letters and took them with her free hand, "and I need you to try and decipher this one." She pulled out the smudged letter and held it for Zane to take.

Zane takes it and scans over it, and noncommittally shrugs her shoulders at Quinn. "I might be able to decipher it, but it will take time. Not a week, not a month; longer than that but I can't be sure exactly how long. I can rearrange the lead particles smudged across the paper back into their original words, but getting to the atomic level takes 1) energy and, as I said, loads of time. You'll need to be patient for this, Quinn." The blonde nods as the beautiful raven-haired girl smiles lightly at her and walks out of the apartment.

Drew looks at her, raising an eyebrow. "So... do you have a boyfriend, _Quinn_?" She glares daggers at him and he raised his hands again, smiling slightly. "Get out, Napadač. And remember, I kicked your ass into unconsciousness and spared you. Assassin rules apply." She smiles toothily at his face, which had turned into a mask of disbelief. She had knocked him out, and she had the chance of killing him then and there. "Fine!" He bit out at her, and grudgingly shook her hand before leaving the apartment.

Finally alone, Quinn heaved a sigh of relief. Her eyes were closing against her will; she hadn't slept in more than 20 hours and now it was starting to catch up to her how tired she really was. She turn on her house alarm, courtesy of the League, walked to her bedroom and quickly fell asleep, not even bothering to change out of her grimy clothes.

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><p>Hours that passed like minutes, and she woke up to the sound of her door being beaten to a woody pulp. She sleepily styled towards it, getting out a loud 'who is it?' and receiving a snarky 'the goddamned tooth fairy!' in response. She smiled at that; this was typical Santana behavior. She also heard a quiet 'Sanny, don't be mean. Quinn was probably riding her unicorn and collecting the rainbows scattered throughout her dreamland'. And that was usual Brittany logic, which was spot on while missing the actual target by miles.<p>

She opened the door, afraid of the sudden silence that oozed through the door, and grimaced when she found the reason behind it: Santana's tongue was getting acquainted with Brittany's throat, and the tall blonde was enjoying two handfuls of Santana's ass. Quinn decided to break them apart when a moan was heard. Clearing her throat, she frowned amusedly at both her friends. "Bitch, you so wanna tap this. Don't even lie." Santana walked into the apartment while Quinn muttered a low 'sure, Santana. Whatever turns you on'.

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, and she was squeezed into Brittany's body. "I've missed you so much, Q. S has, too, but she's grumpy cause you interrupted our sweet lady kisses." Brittany's bubbly aura always had Quinn in a good mood, it didn't matter if that had been the shittiest day of her life to date. Both blondes walked into Quinn's apartment to find Santana already sitting on the living room couch with an open beer on the table and looking over a magazine.

Santana and Brittany had been Quinn's first friends in the League. Going by the code names of Rabobirdo and Jhēra, respectively, they were a fearsome pair and the League was very happy to count with their skills. Brittany being a very skilled decoder, anything written in code she could crack with the right amount of time dedicated to it, and Santana was a very stealthy assassin, getting to her targets quickly, sometimes in record time, and disposing of them in quiet yet incredibly painful ways.

After Quinn's second year with the League, the trio had met Zane and Azrael, an assassin that usually worked on gathering intelligence but was a master with projectile weapons, be it a crossbow, a gun or a throwing knife. If she could launch it and she had a target, she would hit it. The five girls made a lethal team that the League had often called upon to get difficult targets dealt with quickly and effectively.

"Q, why do you look like you went to the morgue and had a romp with a bloody corpse while still wearing your clothes?" Santana's voice quipped from where she sat, beer in hand and smirk in place. Quinn rolled her eyes at the question, going into the kitchen and retrieving two more beers, for herself and Brittany. Going back into the kitchen, she saw the two girls locked in a tender kiss. Her hazel eyes looked on in envy, her heart constricting in her chest. She wanted that, she longed for someone to look at her, to touch her, to kiss her like Santana did to Brittany.

She wanted someone to love her, for everything she was and everything she wasn't. To be able to look past her cold exterior and see what she truly was inside: just a girl that wanted revenge for what that sick bastard did to her family and her friends; just a girl that looked to punish the world's criminals with a heavy dose of their own medicine.

But love was hard, if not impossible altogether, to come by doing what she did. The question nagged at her some more... what kind of girl would want to date an assassin? She had fucked a few girls when she had the free time, but Quinn wanted a deeper connection, a more intimate relationship than just sex.

She wanted a girlfriend, a woman that she could marry and have a family with, grow old together, still as in love as they had been in their youth. But she couldn't had that, not if her life was to be at stake every second that she breathed. Santana's hand on her shoulder made the thoughtful blonde jump, the bottles of beer dropping from her hands. Quick as lightning, though, Brittany caught them before they hit the floor.

"Do you want to tell us what's on your mind, Q? We could help you, if you let us." Santana voice had dropped from its snarky tone in the beginning to a softer, more tender whisper. This version of Santana was a rare sight for everyone except Brittany, so Quinn decided to take that opportunity and confided in her friends.

"I was just thinking... about my life. And it's been on my mind for quite some time now... that I want a love like yours. I'm jealous of what you guys have, and I want that for me, too. It's just that... you know how our jobs are! One second, we're fine and dandy and the next, we could be dead. I don't want to put my hypothetical girlfriend through that... I've felt what it's like to lose someone you care about, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone else." Tears brimmed behind her eyelids, sobs quickly breaking out of her throat.

Two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around Quinn as she cried, her heart breaking at the thought of never getting the chance of loving and being loved by someone. Brittany shushed her as Santana rubbed soothing circles on her back. Whispers of 'it's okay, Quinn' and 'you'll find someone, Q' filled the sorrowful living room as hazel eyes dripped their pain onto the wooden floor. Quinn's sobs subsided and her eyes dropped tiredly. A yawn escaped her, and Santana grabbed Quinn's hand. "Go to sleep, Quinn. We'll set the alarm and lock up when we leave."

Shaking her head, Quinn was carried against her will into her bedroom, Brittany's arms securely around her. The softness of her mattress and pillow, and the familiar warmth and scent of her sheets enveloped her and quickly took over her dizzy head. With a foggy mind, she barely heard the click of her lock and the beep that signaled her alarms was on. Few seconds after, Quinn succumbed to the tempting pull of Sleep.

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><p>A blood-curdling, high pitched shriek awoke her from her deep slumber hours later. Instincts kicking in, she went to her bedroom window, where she saw shadows moving frantically about. Her ears caught this location to be the origin of the scream. Quickly shedding her clothes and putting on a hoodie, sweatpants and her running shoes, she tugged open her window and jumped down to the ground, landing on the balls of her feet and following her momentum into a roll.<p>

The figures had moved some ways away, and she stealthily followed them. Her eyes caught a hulking, maybe male figure manhandling a second silhouette, this one much shorter and much weaker. Another scream made Quinn's mind up for her and she ran towards the big shadow and slammed both elbows into their spine. A pained scream was quickly followed by a side-back fist into her face, which didn't break her jaw but had cut open the skin on the inside of her cheek.

She spat out blood and drove a punch into the open left side of their ribcage, dodging their right hand and placing a kick to the same location as her punch. Her kick landed but her leg was grabbed as she was swung around and smashed into the side of the building. She groaned out in pain as her skull impacted the brick wall behind her.

Falling to her hands and knees, Quinn breathed heavily and she felt her senses getting sharper. About damn time her adrenaline kicked in, she thought as she jumped up from her position, landing a powerful head-butt against her opponent's sternum. A female voice screaming almost brought her out of her fighting mindset. Dodging another two wild shots, she landed three solid punches to the right side ribcage, spinning and landing a punch to his right kidney.

A forearm caught her on the neck, throwing her off balance and onto the ground. The hulking figure stood above her, as her disoriented mind tried to catch up with what was happening. She lifted both her feet up and stomped them out onto what she guessed was the shadow's crotch. A howling told her she had guessed correctly that her opponent was a man. He tried to jump on top of her, but she brought her legs up again, catching his chest with her feet and rolling with his momentum, throwing him over her and into the ground, his skull and neck making a resounding crack as he fell on top of his head.

A slight whimpering had Quinn turning her head, looking for the would be victim. Trembling and hiding behind a corner, a girl sat with her back pushed against the wall, and her chest heaving with her deeps breaths. Quinn managed to stand up, and called out to the girl. "Are you okay?" Her eyes caught a flutter of movement she recognized as a nod, and she limped towards the shocked girl. She was tiny barely over five feet tall, with dark brunette tresses that fell in soft-looking waves, big brown eyes, unblemished and smooth tan skin, and plump red lips.

Quinn's breath caught in her throat as those eyes locked with hers, and she stumbled on her way to this girl. She slowed down and opened her palms to show the girl she was weaponless, but she couldn't exactly say she was harmless. She had just single-handedly taken out, possibly killed, a man who was double her height and weight. To say the beautiful and tiny brunette was frightened was a big understatement.

Quinn knelt a few feet away from the frightened girl, a sharp pain running from her shin to her knee making her grimace slightly. "Thank you... for saving me." Melodious chiming rang in Quinn's ears as the girl spoke. "I don't mean to be rude, but who in the world are you? And how did you... do all that?" Quinn chuckled and shook her head, her pink streaks dancing in a sea of blonde. Good thing that her face was shadowed, she couldn't have this girl recognizing her in broad daylight if they met again.

"I'm Fantôme, and I'm sorry but that's all I can tell you. I can escort you to your home if you want, or call a cab if you prefer. These dark streets are not ones for anyone to walk by themselves, especially at this time of night." The girl's eyes showed no fear towards her, just gratitude, respect and something akin to idolatry.

"Do you live near here? If so, maybe I could spend the night at your place, and go back to mine tomorrow?" Quinn chuckled, ruefully this time as the girl looked simultaneously hopeful and confused. "I'm sorry, miss, but for reasons that I can't divulge, I can't have you see my face." Plump lips parted in a toothy smile, as the girl's eyes twinkled with laughter, tears falling from her eyes as she asked, "Why? Because if I saw you, you'd have to kill me?" She laughed lightly, then stopped when Quinn answered with a quiet, "That's the reason."

Silence enveloped them, and the girl spoke again, "Put your hoodie up, please. Maybe you could wear a mask or something. My place is very far from here; I'm only on this side of NYC because a friend of mine was holding a party and he begged me to come." She sounded near tears again, and Quinn's resolve broke. "Okay. Okay, alright. You can spend the night at mine tonight, but when you leave tomorrow, you'll have to do so blind, for I can't have you know where I live. What's your name?"

Big doe eyes looked at her hooded face, and her soft lips parted once more, revealing her identity to Quinn, "I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry." Quinn nodded as they both stood up, and walked out of the back alley into the sidewalk, but not before Quinn stopped and checked the man for a pulse. Not finding one, she placed another stenciled card on him, and left his body in situ. She needed to find out what to do with Rachel.

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><p><strong>Alright, who liked that? Just me? Saddest Pandas :(<strong>

****Again, shoot me a review or PM me if you want an assassin, including regular and/or assassin name, and I will give you a shout out when I feature them in the chapters.****

****Reviews are love and since I love you guys, I think I should get some love back. Isn't that a fair deal? :)****


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoa, peeps! Watup? Alright, so this is a longer chapter (might stop you guys from killing me for taking so long to update)... We meet two new assassins, and a lot of shit goes down... It's mostly a filler, though. Rachel's feelings for Quinn are developing despite the fact that Rachel doesn't know how Quinn looks like.**

**A shout out to blueskyhawk since their assassins are making an appearance in this chapter and possibly throughout the story.**

**Umm... I guess read the chapter to catch up on stuff. And for Chopin44, Azrael will make her appearance in the next chapter... Just a little something to look forward to *cough* Zane and Azrael UST *cough***

**AND ONE MORE THING (Jackie Chan moment): If you see any mistakes in spelling or grammar or context (wrong word, and the like), don't hesitate to tell me. I write these in my iTouch and the font size is kinda small... and I'm kinda blind for my 18 years... So, yeah, feel free to say: 'Hey, idiot, you misspelled this' :D**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>Making sure to keep her face covered in shadows, Quinn led Rachel to her apartment. They silently walked up the stairs, by before they reached the door to Quinn's place, the assassin heaved out a frustrated sigh. Rachel turned to her, shooting her eyes to the ground in case she might accidentally see her savior's face. "What's wrong? Why aren't you going in?"<p>

She could hear the shuffling and rustling of clothes, and could basically see Fantôme's annoyed gesture of raising and dropping her hands as whatever she was looking for was not to be found on her person. "When I went to save you, I jumped out of the window of my room. The door is locked, the alarm is on and the keys are inside, so we can't get in." Quinn paced around for a bit, lightly biting the tip of her finger, until she turned back to Rachel. "Would you mind staying here while I go around and in through the window?"

Rachel shook her head, her soft looking chocolate tresses swaying with the movement. Quinn nodded, and turning away, she let out over her shoulder, "Stay here. I don't want anything happening to you." She jogged down the stairs, leaving a flushed Rachel Berry behind. _Why did she say that? Does she actually care about what happens to me? I mean, she saved my life and I'll be eternally grateful but... why did she say she wouldn't want anything happening to me? Would she feel guilty if something _were_ to happen and she wasn't there to save me like the first time?_

The soft turning of a lock had her turning around, the door opening slowly. From inside, stood a person, slightly taller than her, about three inches or so, wearing the same hoodie and pants that she had seen on her savior.

Looking up to their face, her eyes were met by a mask that immediately reminded her of Hannibal Lecter's, because of the slits in front of the mysterious girl's mouth so she could be heard when speaking. It covered the rest of the girl's face, though, also having wide slits for her to be able to see.

Looking into those slits, she caught sight of obscured hazel eyes looking back at her. Fantôme moved to the side, holding the door open for Rachel to go through. "Please, come in." Her voice had a husky, low tone to it, though Rachel thought the girl's voice was distorted by the mask. She looked around the room, her eyes dancing and flitting over the beautiful furniture and tastefully decorated space.

She noticed the walls and tables were void of any kind of personal picture, and when she turned to ask the girl about that, the assassin beat her to the punch. "I can't have anyone seeing my face, unless they work with me. I'm already a target as it is, just by doing what I do, so to have my face displayed somewhere is putting a name and face to the target. They'd know who I am, and they'd come after me in a heartbeat. My... _employers _value me too much for me to put myself and my coworkers in such danger." Rachel was hypnotized by the unnervingly sexy voice this girl had, _oh God, Rachel! You need to get laid; how long ago was it that you last had sex?_

Her thoughts were disrupted by Fantôme's voice calling her name from across the room, holding another door open. "You'll be sleeping in my room; I'll take the couch tonight. I've already laid out fresh sheets and changed the pillowcases. I also laid out something for you to wear to sleep; it was the smallest thing I could find, I hope they fit you. If you need anything else tonight, just come and ask me. I'll try to help you." Rachel went into the room, which was decorated in the same style as the living room, missing pictures of her savior included.

The door closed behind her, a whispered 'goodnight' reaching her ears. Beating her curiosity down with a shovel, Rachel changed into the clothes the assassin had mentioned. A light pair of sweatpants and a soft black t-shirt. She went into the bathroom and found a toothbrush in top of the sink, still in its clear plastic wrapping. She opened it and brushed her teeth, all the while thinking about the girl that was just a room away from her.

_How old is she? What does she look like? Is she pretty? Does she have a boyfriend? Would she like to go out with me? WOAH! Berry, where did that come from?_ She shook her head and spat the toothpaste in her mouth out, rinsing her mouth and spitting again. She finished her nightly routine before walking out to the bedroom. She got into the bed, which was warm and soft; she took a deep breath and the delicious, barely there scent of vanilla and honey assaulted her senses.

She turned her head and pressed her nose into the pillow under her head, breathing in the alluring scent that filled the room with its light and tempting aroma. Her brain got fuzzy with the airy smell, while her lips went dry and she swiped her tongue out to moisten them. She closed her eyes as she let the beautiful perfume surround her and take her under in the most vivid, most erotic thoughts that she had ever experienced.

In a room filled with the mouthwatering scent, she laid on her back, a plush and soft surface under her. A faceless girl appeared, her curvy and soft body looking ethereally beautiful in the celestially white light. As her breathing and heartbeat accelerated, soft lips pressed onto her own, filling her body with a warmth that burned her soul with white hot licks of fire, arousing the deepest, most primal needs inside her. She burnt with the need to have this girl's lips on her, her body against her, and her hands touching, groping, rubbing and thrusting; those hands that held an inhuman amount of strength. As soon as she thought it, those hands were on her, playing her body like a finely tuned instrument.

She couldn't see who this girl was, but her body and mind knew who she wanted her partner to be. _"Fantôme. Oh, God, Fantôme, yes. Please, Fantôme, so good. Fantôme, Fantôme, FANTÔME!"_ her eyes shot open when she heard hurried footsteps coming her way and the door being opened slowly. "Yes, Rachel?" The hazel eyes stood out against the immaculate white of the mask she was still wearing. The brunette shivered as those hazel eyes replaced the vacant whites of her dream girl.

"Nothing! I was just... uh... getting a feel. For the name! It sounds... really foreign, dark, and mysterious. Did you choose it, or was it given to you?" Her eyes caught a flash of pink streaked blonde locks as Fantôme chuckled and shook her hair, the hoodie pulling back with the motion. She looked back up and her eyes nailed Rachel's down immediately. "It was given to me, when I joined my work place. All my coworkers have names like mine as well." Her words were chosen carefully, so nothing was accidentally revealed to her tiny guest.

She saw those soft chocolate locks bounce happy ok as the brunette nodded, before her plump lips parted and her next query was unleashed, "And where do you work? Maybe I can contact you if I need help again." The shy smile sent her way had Quinn's heart racing, and her own shy smile was gratefully covered by the mask.

Quinn bowed at the waist a little as she answered, her eyes almost level with Rachel's. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that. We're a very secret, very private organization. You don't come to us; we come to you, in whatever circumstances you may be." Her voice was cold, detached.

Her job was never easy; how easy could it be to be walking around a street and to suddenly find a mutilated body in an alley?

How easy could it be to be forced by your own nature and training to report this to A) the League and B) the police?

How easy could it be to have to search the corpse for any identity and to then get to the task of looking for the perpetrators, hoping all the while that the police find them first?

How easy could it be to look into the eyes of their targets and see the fear that plagued them reflected back at them?

How easy could it be to kill them when the thought of those same eyes showering a family with love and adoration bit and slashed at them, until they also were left bleeding and scarred?

No, Quinn's job was everything but easy, yet as time went on, she had learned to push away the thoughts that made her targets breathing, living humans. She had learned it was easier when she forced her mind to focus on the traits that dehumanized them, and then forced her hand to slaughter the beast before her.

"'In whatever circumstances I may be'? What does that mean?" Rachel's brows furrowed as her eyes searched Quinn's for an answer that the blonde was not providing. Her eyes shot open when the assassin sharply turned her head to the right, her hand raised in the universal stop sign. Holding her breath and focusing on hearing past the blood rushing in her ears, Rachel heard the sure sound of a step creaking under someone's weight.

Quinn silently and quickly searched the drawers in the room, getting out two guns with four mags of ammo, and a belt with about two dozen knives. She strapped the belt on herself while she closed the drawer with a bump of her hip. She checked the guns to see if they were loaded; they were. Putting an elegant and long digit up to the slits of her mask, she signed to Rachel to stay quiet. She grabbed the girl by her elbow, and hurriedly pulled her to the bathroom, the only room besides the kitchen and the closets that had no windows, and only one entry and exit. "Stay in here, lock yourself and open the door to no one. I'll come back for you."

She didn't know why she suddenly trusted those gorgeous hazel eyes as they told her that she would be safe. _I don't know, could it be when she saved your diva ass for being mauled to a pulp by the Hulk himself, and then proceeded to let you sleep in the safety of her house when you asked her to? She even gave you her bed, and while that couch looks soft as a baby's bottom, I don't think it's that comfortable to sleep in._

Her conscience sounded a lot like her high school friend Mercedes. She had been spending way too much time in LA with her, where Mercedes had gotten big in the music industry after getting out of old McKinley high school a couple of years back. She listened as the silence engulfed the whole apartment. She could hear a pin drop, until a blast of gunshots were heard throughout the small place. She got into the bathtub and laid on her stomach, her hands over her head and her eyes scrunched shut as screams and yells of pain resonated around her.

Her ears caught the sickening sound of someone gurgling and she could just imagine what must've happened to that person. Her stomach rolled with nausea as the image entered her head, and was quickly forced to leave. She heard the dull thuds of something hitting the walls, and the unmistakable chime that metal made when it came in contact with something.

She stayed still and breathed quietly, jumping in the bathtub when she heard knocking on the door. She stayed mute as the knocking got louder; then she heard it. "Rachel? You okay in thee? It's Fantôme, I'm alone. Can you open the door?" She had never been more grateful for someone to knock on the bathroom door!

She threw open the door, and didn't hesitate to jump into the solidly soft body of her two-time savior. Her arms wrapped around the taller girl's neck as their bodies collided, her head fitting snugly under the assassin's chin. Her nose breathed in the now familiar scent of vanilla and honey. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" She mumbled into the pale column of flesh before kissing it gently and without thinking.

The body pressed up against her stiffened at the touch of her lips, and Rachel pulled away with her lip caught between her teeth. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking, and I let my emotions get ahead of me. I'm so sorry!" She put her hands up to cover her mouth as her eyes welled with tears. What had she done? Now Fantôme won't want anything to do with her and she was gonna be left out defenseless on the streets.

She was sobbing lightly when a warm and strong pair of arms encased her in their embrace. She hid her tear stained face on the chest she was being pressed into, her tiny hands fisting the soft material of the shirt the blonde girl wore. Soothing touches and whispers had her softly sniffling and slowly getting her breath back.

She pulled away from the embrace when she felt those arms curling tighter against her body and her brain relived her earlier fantasy of having this girl touching her in places never touched before. The embrace was no longer protective but seductive, those arms no longer held a soft and soothing warmth but a passionate and libidinous fire that threatened to take over her body.

"We have to get out of here, this place is no longer safe for me or you. I'm gonna make a quick call and by the time I'm done, I'm gonna need you to be dressed and on your toes, for I'll need your help to make our escape a swift one. Get dressed." She said that as she turned, her hand already pulling out a cellphone from her pocket. Rachel got dressed in her dirtied dress quickly and put her shoes on, and her ears perked up when she caught wind of the conversation Quinn was having.

_"Rabobirdo, I need your help. Yours and Jhēra's. I saved a woman from a certainly brutal death tonight, and I couldn't get her to her place in one piece unless I accompanied her... So, instead, she stayed at my place. I covered my face, don't worry, she didn't see me. But about ten minutes ago, my place was crashed and about six guys swinging knives and shooting came in... I rushed her to bathroom and told her to hide there until I came back for her! Now, I dealt with the guys, but they don't seem like our usual break-ins. These guys are working for someone, someone that knows who we are and wants us dead... No! Listen to me! If they knew the girl was here, one of them would've at least tried to get past me... They didn't, Rabobirdo, that's my point. They weren't here for her; they were here for me... Yeah, I gotta get out of my place... Crash at hers? Good idea; can you guys meet us there? We'll talk to the Heads tomorrow, see what we can do about this... Extra protection? Another great idea; call up Aïllador and Lismare... They owe me both their asses. Call them up and tell them to meet us at her place as well... Yeah, they should wear their masks too... Alright, thanks Rabobirdo."_

Her brows creased in confusion, who on earth was Rabobirdo? And Jhēra? Aïllador and Lismare? What kind of names were those? Rachel guessed that Fantôme had just contacted some of her 'coworkers' to come and help them out. And who are the Heads? Are they Fantôme's 'employers'? And why did they have to choose what to do with her? Rachel hadn't done anything.

Steps rushed back into the room and Fantôme appeared, carrying what looked to be a regular school backpack, except this one had lots of zippers and Velcro straps. Quinn started to open drawers and taking things out, neatly organizing them in the pack. Rachel saw guns, knives, daggers, ninja stars, brass knuckles; anything that had appeared in action movies was stored in the pack and even some things not featured even in the most badass of movies. This girl had a war armory inside her house!

A hand grabbed her own and Fantôme's husky voice, which had no reason to be as low as it was in the first place, called on her. "Rachel, come on. We gotta go!" Her feet moved, closely following the tall assassin. Her chocolate orbs noticed how quickly yet gracefully Fantôme moved, like her limbs were made of smoke or water and had the easiest time moving around objects. Rachel herself is having a difficult time getting around the bloody bodies, destroyed furniture and other kind of random debris that was strewn around the room.

"Where are we going?" Rachel's frantic voice reached Quinn, whose senses were still sharpened from the adrenaline rush a few minutes ago. They got out of the shot up apartment, and when one of Quinn's neighbors peeked her graying head out of her door, Quinn put a strong arm around Rachel's waist, pulling the tiny girl to her body, and smiled a little at her neighbor. "We were invited to a... uh..." Quinn's eyes shift to Rachel, pressing the tiny brunette to help her out.

"To a costume cast party. I just came to get... my girlfriend! I thought she'd like to come with me. She loves dressing up." Rachel's cheeks flushed when she let out the word girlfriend, but with Fantôme's arm curling intimately around her, it looked to be more than just a friendship. The blonde nodded, whispering out, "Yep, a costume cast party. We still gotta get her costume; she wanted to make sure I didn't forget so she came to check on me." The suspicious eyes of Quinn's neighbor raked across both their faces, but then decided to drop it, pulling her head back into her own apartment.

"Let's go!" Quinn quickly pulls Rachel down the stairs and out of the building. They went to the parking lot, where the assassin led the tiny brunette to a white with red motorcycle. Rachel stood there looking at the contraption like it would sprout wings and fly if she stared long enough. "It's a Kawasaki Ninja 650R. I got it a couple of years ago, do it'd be easier for me to move around the city." Quinn looked on at her bike with pride in her eyes, while Rachel wasn't so sure about that. "We... uh, are we... going on... _that_?"

Quinn then turned to sarcasm, "No, we're gonna stand around and stare at it until it moves. Of course, we're going on it! Unless, you prefer to walk to your place?" Her hazel eyes amusedly stared down at defiant chocolate pools. Tearing down the bridge they had created, Quinn straddled the bike and turn the ignition on, smiling delightedly when she felt the metallic beast roar to life between her knees.

Rachel huffed and sat down behind Quinn, wrapping her arms around the taller girl's waist. Quinn passed her a helmet, putting on her own and discreetly removing her mask from underneath it. Rachel gasped softly when she noticed the mask being placed inside the backpack strapped to the girl's shoulders; the tiny brunette didn't know why her heart yearned to see the assassin's face, she had only known the woman for a handful of hours.

Quinn walked the bike backwards to be able to get out of the parking lot. When the blonde had enough room to get out, she revved the bike and pulled out of the parking lot, the smell of burning rubber left behind. She made her way down the street but, upon reaching a stoplight that had just turned red, two black SUVs lacking license plates pulled into the same street, stalled a moment and ran the red light, driving straight toward the bike.

Without looking, Quinn reached into the backpack pulled out a loaded Colt Double Eagle, and aimed it at one of the speeding SUVs. Firing three consecutive shots that ricocheted off of the bullet proof windshield, Quinn cursed under her breath and revved the bike again, pulling off a left turn and momentarily leaving their pursuers behind.

Driving at about 75 mph, Quinn's actions could be considered reckless and borderline suicidal, but when you're trying to protect someone, putting your own skin on the line is basically meaningless. Pulling one leg out while keeping her balance with the other, Quinn motioned for Rachel to scoot forward on the bike so they could switch places. The brunette did so, and Quinn straddled the bike again, her hands now free to shoot.

Rachel took the bike's handles, and kept the speed constant while Quinn shot at their pursuers, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off of the surface of the vehicle. Quickly getting out a small round disk, Quinn turned slightly and threw it at the first SUV, which was getting infinitesimally close to them. The disk stuck and a red light flashed for five seconds before it exploded, engulfing the car in flames. The second SUV had to stop for they had no way to get around the fiery rubble. Quinn's hands covered Rachel's as the brunette whispered the address of her home.

15 minutes later saw Quinn and Rachel putting the bike in an alley and covering it up with a dark plastic sheet. Rachel's heart dropped when she saw Quinn putting on the mask again before taking off her helmet. The assassin checked the Colt, noticing that she still had five shots left, she pushed the magazine back into the butt of the gun and placed it in her coat, in an inside pocket. Placing a hand on Rachel's lower back, she felt tingles running up her fingers at the body warmth that seeped through the tiny girl's clothing. Rachel's breathing quietly sped up when Fantôme's hand met her body; she didn't know why she felt this way. She didn't even know how the girl looked besides the pale skin and pink streaked blonde hair.

Getting to Rachel's apartment, the two waited for a while until four masked figures, one male and three females, jumped through the open window at the end of the hallway, opposite the stairs the pair had just come up. Rachel jumped and hid behind Quinn, who wound a protective arm around the diva, nodding her head at the four figures that were now advancing towards them. The four stopped just feet shy of them, the silence loud in their ears and drowning them all.

One of the taller figures, a girl, bounced towards them happily and brought Quinn into a tight embrace. Quinn used her free arm to hug her back while another figure, shorter than the first, walked over to them and fist bumped the shorter blonde as soon as she was done hugging Jhēra. Lismare and Aïllador stood back, nodding their heads at Fantôme in recognition. Rachel opened the door of her apartment, walking in and inviting the assassins in after her.

She stopped short however when she saw two tall figures standing in the middle of her living room, talking heatedly. "Look Jesse, whatever she had with you is over, alright? It's obvious that she's choosing me. Admittedly, I am the better option out of the two of us." A tall tan guy with sparkling blue eyes and spike styled black hair smirked smugly at the other guy, who was the same height but had a paper complexion, with wavy brown curls and green eyes.

"Whatever, Damien. Rachel hasn't chosen yet, but when she does, it'll be me. I obviously have the ability to keep up with her, since you can't even sing the alphabet, let alone carry a tune. I have the same dreams, the same aspirations and ambitions." Damien's smile fell from its place on his handsome face as Jesse kept going. "What do you have? A skateboard, a half pipe, and a mile's worth of medical bills that she'll have to pay for cause you don't have a penny to your name. What could you possibly give her when she had me to give her everything she ever wanted?"

Rachel cleared her throat loudly to keep the argument from going any further. Both men turned towards her simultaneously, their eyes widening when they saw her company. The second guy, Jesse, was the first to speak. "Rach, baby, who are these people? And where have you been? I've been waiting her since 4:30, I started getting worried when you didn't show up. And then this clown appeared with the lunacy that was the idea of asking you out on a date. Now, if you please, tell him that you're choosing me and get him out of here. His presence here hurts my eyes." Damien glare a t Jesse, a snarl twisting his features.

He turned to Rachel as well, a charming smile popping up on his face as if on cue. "Babe, c'mon. Tell this loser that you're choosing me and let's make happy, alright? Who are your friends, and why are they dressed like that? Is there a party that your forgot to invite me to?" He laughed lightly, cute dimples shyly peeking at them from the corners of his lips. Rachel sighed in frustration, looking at both men and shaking her head.

"Damien," the guy perked up considerably when he heard his name, "Jesse," the other boy smiled at her, "please, get out of my house. I broke up with both of you, and I'm staying firm on my decisions. Jesse, you do hold the same dreams and ambitions as me, being Broadway is our shared dream, but you're arrogant and narcissistic. That's why it didn't work out." Damien smelled at him, a dark eyebrow quirking up.

"Damien, you're a great guy, but you're too jealous and overbearing for me. I need to have my freedom, I don't need you looking over my shoulder every time when you think I might be flirting with someone. You're jealous of Kurt, when you know he's gay and has a boyfriend. Now please, both of you get out." The guys tried to near Rachel, but Quinn blocked their way, a hand stet he'd out to stop them. "She said get out."

The guys scowled at her and tried to move past her, but in a quick move Lismare had Damien on the ground in a chokehold, and Aïllador was holding Jesse to a wall. Rachel spoke again, "Guys, let them go. Damien, Jesse, get out." Both guys were pissed at these apparent bodyguards Rachel had gotten for herself, but they didn't leave without their final word. "Rachel, I don't care if you think this is over. I will fight for you, and we will be happy again." Damien left those words hanging in the air. Jesse looked at Rachel, trying to get close to her again, getting intercepted by Jhēra putting an arm up against his chest. "Rachel, I love you and I will get you back, even if it's the last thing I do." Jesse glared at the five assassins, and left without a backwards glance.

Rachel closed the door and looked at her guests/bodyguards who were all standing in a wide semi-circle, five pairs of eyes looking back at her. She sighed, and sat down on the expensive looking couch that covered most of the spacious living room, her head in her hands. Without thinking, Quinn walked forward and sat down next to her, wrapping her arm around the brunette's shoulders.

The soothing smell of vanilla and honey that was forever connected to the familiar safety that Fantôme provided; she burrowed into Quinn's chest and fisted her tiny hands in the pink streaked girl's jacket. The four other assassins looked on, emotionless faces giving nothing away.

Getting her emotions back in place, Rachel looked into worried hazel eyes and smiled at Fantôme, whose eyes revealed she was smiling back. They stood up, and Fantôme started the introductions, "Alright. This is Aïllador, he will be your personal bodyguard. Rabobirdo, Jhēra, Lismare and I will rotate and watch over you, in case you need the backup. We will never be too far away, we need to be within... killing range." The assassins laughed darkly at Fantôme's words.

A brunette head nodded hazily, her eyes looking out into space. Rachel stood up from the couch, and gave out sleeping arrangements for if, and when, the assassins slept at her place. "Alright, then. The apartment has two bedrooms, one of which is mine. Aïllador and Lismare, if you don't mind to sleep together, you can have the pullout couch; Jhēra and Rabobirdo can have the spare room; and there's another couch in my room if you wanna take that, Fantôme." The diva said this without giving away the fact that she hoped Fantôme would want to sleep in her room.

All assassins nodded their heads, agreeing to this sleeping arrangement. They all knew that whomever wanted them dead would not leave Rachel unharmed. They had to protect her as well as each other; they were 99% sure that the Heads would see it their way as well. As Rachel went into her room to change into her sleepwear, the five assassins set up a watch rota. They had done this times before with other teams so staying up well into the night was not new for anyone.

Aïllador took the first shift, as Fantôme went to make sure the windows in Rachel's room were locked and, just in case someone did try to break in through there, she had placed a silent alarm that would buzz to all five of them, letting them know to act silently and quickly to dispose of the threat. Fantôme explained it to Rachel, who just nodded her head in agreement. She knew this was for her own good, but she couldn't help but think that maybe Fantôme saving her life was going to turn out doing more damage than good.

She cautiously walked into her room, Fantôme's silhouette casting shapeless shadows against the slightly open door. She closed the door behind her and took a moment to gather herself. She had to ask her savior this, she just had to know. "Fantôme?" The girl turned to her, the hoodie slipping slightly down the back of her head, revealing a wild mane of pink-streaked blonde locks. The tiny brunette knew she held the girl's undivided attention, but she nervously nibbled at her lip, wondering how to go about asking her question.

"Why is Aïllador my personal bodyguard? Why can't it be someone else, someone that I know and trust? Why can't it be you, instead?" She couldn't keep a note of sadness and disappointment from lacing her voice as she asked. Her head dropped, not wanting Fantôme to see the embarrassed flush that covered her face nor the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. A soft hand caressing her cheek had her eyes widening and her heart jumping out of her chest. Her face was gently brought up and her eyes locked with those gorgeous hazel eyes that now haunted her every thought.

"As much as I want to take the spot of being your personal bodyguard, Aïllador is somewhat more imposing. I don't know if you've noticed the _tiny_ difference in size between him and me. He's going to make protecting you so much easier. With him as your bodyguard, the rest of us got a lot of slack cut out for us. It's going to make things a lot easier for us to protect you if he's in that spot." Rachel nodded cause the logic she was presented with defied anything that might've occurred to her.

With Aïllador's imposing size and musculature, only a person with a death wish would dream of nearing her. Either that or a person on a mission. She realized with a burning blush that Fantôme's hand was still on her cheek, her thumb making light circles on her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered close against her will and her lips parted lightly, her breath coming out in short puffs. "You should probably provide covers and pillows for Aïllador and Lismare; they will get cold if they have nothing to sleep in and their suits are quite drafty." Rachel could hear the smile in the blonde's voice, and nodded, going to her closet and pulling out what she needed.

Giving out blankets and pillows to Aïllador and Lismare for the living room couch, and for Fantôme taking her bedroom couch, Rachel said her goodnights and went to sleep. Quinn watched her silently from her place on the couch right across from the bed. There was something else that these guys wanted, and, apparently, Rachel was involved in it. She couldn't directly ask what it was for the diva could very well lie to her; she had to ask Zane.

Tiptoeing out to the living room, she tapped Aïllador on the shoulder, making the quiet man turn to look at her. Santos Jaramillo was born and raised in LA, his dad was Spanish, and his mother was born an American of Portuguese descent. They met on a cruise through the Pacific and fell instantly in love; they got married after a year or so of dating; had him about a year after that. But they died in a mysterious fire when Santos was 16.

He claimed to the police that a guy had visited his father two days before the fire. He said this businessman was looking to seal a deal with Fabian Jaramillo, Santos' father. But when his father declined the offer, the guy had gone completely livid and swore that Fabian would regret his decision. When the police didn't believe Santos and tried to get him to go to a foster home since he was still a minor, Santos ran away. And that's how the League had found him: roaming around, scavenging or stealing for food, sleeping in abandoned warehouses or parks or the like.

He had left a part out of the story, though; he clearly remembered the businessman standing no more than two hundred feet away from the rapidly burning house. Etched and burned forever in his mind was the sadistically triumphant smile that the asshole wore as he watched with giddy eyes how the house fell, caving in on itself and crumbling down into a pile of ashes, the smell of burning wood covering up the stench of scorching flesh.

Aïllador's steel gray eyes were the same as his father's, the thick black hair and naturally bronzed skin belonged to his mother. He was tall, a mountain in comparison to the average man. Almost hitting the 7' mark, at 6'10", Aïllador was a very gentle giant. His compassion was ironically rivaled by his cold blood when he carried out his missions. His level head and strategic mind made him a very valuable asset to the League. He could be a great ally or the worst of enemies, depending on which side of the fence someone stood.

From her position on the bed, Lismare pulled her upper body up and rested her weight on her elbows, her gray-blue eyes jumping from Fantôme to Aïllador. Standing at 5'4 and 1/2", with lightly tanned skin and a long sheet of platinum blonde hair, Drew Myles was gorgeous. She used her looks to gather intelligence that was hard to come by for anyone else. She had seduced several of her targets to their deaths, getting them alone in the privacy of a luxurious hotel suite or the VIP rooms of a trendy night club.

Genius, cunning and divinely beautiful, Drew was a definite hazard in the long list of assassins to be wary of. The League would not survive any attack by their opponents if any of them had Drew Myles in their grasp. The girl was deceitful, an incredibly good actress to boot and could lie her way in and out of the most dangerous of situations.

"I need to call Zane; I have a suspicion that something else is going on, something involving Rachel. _That's _why these guys are going after us. They went primarily after her, but when I intervened, we became their problem, too. Keep an eye on her, Aïllador. Whatever these guys are after, they can't get it from her. We have to keep her safe until the Heads decide our course of action. I'll go make that call." She left as Aïllador nodded, and Quinn smirked lightly when Drew quirked her eyebrow playfully.

Hazel eyes rolled good-naturedly as Quinn walked away from the pair; she suspected something went on between the quiet giant and the beautiful seductress, but there was nothing in the rule book that forbid the relationship between two assassins. And she still didn't know if they did have something going on or not, so she couldn't complain about that.

Pulling her cellphone out, it rang in her hand even before Quinn was out of the apartment. Flipping it open, she answered, "Fantôme here, talk to me." A knot in her throat formed as she heard the voice on the other end. "Fantôme, it's Pravda. The Heads and I would like to speak with you tomorrow morning, if it's not too much trouble."

_Trickster, this is not a request to speak with me; this is a command. _"Yes, ma'am. I'll be at the Location tomorrow morning. What time?" She bit her lip as the woman on the other end waited to respond. "7:30 am. Don't be late, Fantôme. You know we don't like to be kept waiting." The line went dead and Quinn breathed a little easier, but the thought came back to bite her ass: _what did the Heads want to speak with her about?_

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><p><strong>I forgot to say this in the Brittana introductory chapter (I don't remember which one it is)...<strong>

**Santana's name is Rabobirdo, which is a really cool word ****in Esperanto ****that translates to Raptor  
>Brittany's name is Jhēra, which is Venom in Gujarati (?)<br>****Santos' name is Aïllador, which is Isolator in Catalan (blueskyhawk's assassin, not mine)  
>Drew's name is Lismare, which is Sycophant in Swedish (blueskyhawk's assassin, not mine)<br>Pravda is Slovak for Justice **

**Review... please... I love the people that review, they're awesome... So, everyone, be awesome. If you have time to fave and follow, shoot me a review. Even if it is just to say 'Stop playing so much Assassin's Creed and get to writing!'**


	5. Chapter 5

**Short chapter... Oh, shit, you guys are gonna kill me!**

**Shout out to Chopin44, Azrael does appear in this chapter, but she doesn't say anything... YET! Sorry, I know I mentioned UST in the previous chapter... I just didn't plan on Azrael making her debut while the Heads are dumping all this crap on Rachel...**

**I've decided to do more backgrounds on the assassins, since we have Quinn's and Santos' backgrounds but none of the others... So I'll get to that eventually :)**

**Don't kill the writer, otherwise the story's left unfinished. And trust me, if you guys stay til the finish, you shall shit bricks along the way... maybe even pass out for some of you...**

**To all my reviewers, my followers and my favoriters (?), I wanna give you all thanks that you gave this, gave ME, a shot. My inspirations to keep writing is you guys. If you guys don't like something, I would probably stop writing and go die in a ditch somewhere... Or stop writing and go play more Assassin's Creed. Either one works :)**

**My third month anniversary with my girlfriend is tomorrow, so I'm being generous and giving you this chapter today. Feel free to hate on my love life :D This chapter is obviously dedicated to my gorgeous girlfriend, Brittany. I love you so much, baby, you make me so happy and I'm ecstatic that I'm able to call you my girl :)**

**Enjoy the chapter :)**

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><p>Getting her bearings back, Quinn quickly dialed Zane's number. The raven-haired girl didn't pick up, and so the call was sent to voicemail. <em>"Hello, you have reached Zane. If this is the person you wanted to talk to, please leave a brief message, your name and phone number and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you." <em>Quinn let out a frustrated sigh, and brought her free hand up to her forehead, rubbing her temples firmly to try and dissipate the headache that was starting to form.

"Zane. It's Fantôme. I need you to look up someone for me. Her name is Rachel Berry, I saved her earlier tonight and now we're being chased around NYC by some thugs that are not only looking to kill us, but I think they're also looking for her. Please get back to me ASAP! This is code red priority, Zane. Call me when you get anything that could be of importance. Thanks." Quinn hung up, and placed the phone back in her jacket, moving her hands to her hair, running them both back and forth through the messy mane.

Her brain was flying at 1000 miles per second, the amount of thoughts running around almost frying her neurons. She walked back in to see Lismare on top of Aïllador, both asleep under the covers. The gentle giant had his tree trunk arms around the frail torso of the girl above him and Lismare's were wound around his neck.

Quinn smiled and quietly walked to Rachel's room, where she found the brunette sitting on her bed, her knees up to her chest and her arms around them. Melted chocolate pools rose to meet hers and Quinn stopped short at the unadulterated vulnerability she found in them. She cut short the trek from her place to the bed, and sat down next to Rachel.

She opened her arms and the tiny brunette immediately curled into her body, her own arms going around the assassin's lean torso. Quinn's heart sped up, _what the hell is happening to me? _She tightened her arms around the small body pressed up against hers. "We should get some sleep. I was ordered to be at the Location tomorrow morning at 7:30; I need to get some rest."

As she was moving to stand up, Rachel's arms tightened around her torso and her legs snaked around her waist. Quinn laughed lightly and moved to stand up again, but a whimper from Rachel had the blonde settling back down on the bed. Rachel's limbs didn't lessen their hold on her, so Quinn laid down on the bed and pulled the covers up over her. Rachel smiled contentedly, her eyes closed and she also laid down on the mattress, besides Quinn. "Okay, Koala Bear, go to sleep."

Rachel giggled at the name and snuggled into Quinn, the blonde's arm subconsciously going around the tiny girl's body, holding her protectively against the assassin. Quinn had never slept so well in her life.

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><p>Waking up at 6 on the dot, Quinn woke up Rachel as well. She couldn't leave the girl by herself, anything could happen to her. Both girls went about waking up the rest of the assassins; Quinn woke up Santana and Brittany while Rachel went to the task of waking up Santos and Drew.<p>

As Quinn had predicted, Santana and Brittany were naked under the covers, obviously having had sex the previous night. She poked them with a blunted knife, making both women stir and stretch. Quinn covered her eyes when the covers started to slip as they stretched; she had many unwanted memories of the two women before her, she didn't need to add any more.

"Wake up, lazy butts. We gotta get to the Location, at 0730 hours. The Heads want to speak to me, and we could probably do more research about these thugs and what they want with us and Rachel." She said this blind, walking backwards to the door, feeling her way with her free hand.

"Hey, Q. Can you look at this and tell me what you think?" The hand covering her eyes fell as her hazel eyes opened. Santana and Brittany howled in laughter when Quinn's eyes caught a good look of their breasts, and the hazel eyed blonde slapped her eyes closed so hard, she lost her balance and fell to the floor, from where she crawled out of the door.

Shuttering the door on the howls of raucous laughter, she turned and yelled, "You two are insane. You are gonna pay for that and for my much needed years of therapy. The horror!" She covered her eyes again and shook her head, whining at the image burned into her brain. The laughter inside the room only increased in volume as Quinn slumped in front of the door, driving her elbow back into the wood, hearing it rattle on its hinges with a satisfied smile.

A throat being cleared had Quinn looking up to a smirking Rachel Berry, arms crossed in front of her chest and her foot tapping on the floor. The door behind Quinn suddenly flew open and the blonde fell backwards into the room, getting an eyeful of naked and flushed skin under a pair of skirts.

She groaned again, closing her eyes and rolling over as Santana and Brittany laughed yet again at having burned their friend for the second time in ten minutes. "Why does this always happen to me?" Quinn's muffled voice reached all ears and they all laughed at the unfortunate blonde.

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><p>After some unnecessary jabs at Quinn, the blonde blindfolded Rachel and they were on their way to the Location. The entrance was located in what appeared to be an abandoned movie theater, off of First Street. The six of them walked in, no one paying any attention to five masked people leading a tiny and blindfolded brunette into a vandalized and unstable building.<p>

Taking Rachel's blindfold off when they were in the dark building, Quinn grabbed the girl's elbow in a firm grip, not wanting to lose the brunette in the death trap. All assassins that worked for the League knew the safe path from the entrance of the building to the hidden entrance to the Location.

Ignoring the electric spark that ran through both girls, they kept walking until they reached one of the emergency exit doors in the 13th theatre. They went through it and stepped down on the stairs, reaching a landing, where a dirtied pair of doors faced the group. Blowing dust off of a pad to the right side of the doors, Quinn pressed her palm against it for a few seconds.

An electric hum filled the landing, quiet enough to fly by undetected but loud enough to tell the assassins that they had awakened a mechanism inside it. With a hiss of air, the doors split open, dispersing any thoughts of them being rusted, unusable and defective.

The assassins plus Rachel stepped into the dark elevator, a cold sweat breaking out on Rachel's skin when the doors closed and they were submerged in total darkness. Her only reassurance, she was surrounded by assassins and Fantôme was there to protect her. She grabbed the girl's hand just to feel her warmth and closeness.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened up again... Rachel's joy was short lived, however, for the doors opened up to an equally dark hallway. The five assassins made a box around Rachel, with Aïllador and Lismare behind her, Rabobirdo on her left, Jhēra on her right and Fantôme right in front of her. Fantôme placed Rachel's hand on her right shoulder, guiding her through the darkness.

Breathing erratically, Rachel felt Fantôme grab her left hand and lace their fingers together, her thumb soothingly rubbing the palm of Rachel's tiny hand. Swallowing audibly, Rachel's eyes fought to further adjust to the darkness, her heart pounding inside her chest and blood rushing through her ears. _Nothing's going to happen to me, I'm completely safe. They won't let anything happen to me; Fantôme won't let anything happen to me._

Looking straight ahead to keep her fear in check, Rachel gasped quietly when she felt her hand being pulled upwards, and she flushed hotly when her fingers met hard abs. She gulped again at the feeling of the muscles underneath her digits; so strong and unyielding, with light ribbons of scar tissue running down the length of the assassin's ribcage. Rachel had the frenzied urge to kiss those ribbons of sensitive skin, to feel the ridges under her tongue.

Those thoughts stopped when Fantôme stopped. "We bring a would-be victim. She's my responsibility and I accept the consequences and punishments that You may lay upon me." Her heart fluttered when Fantôme's voice registered in Rachel's sensory deprived brain. _She's willing to answer and face whatever befalls her... for me?_ Rachel almost swooned at this, thinking that if she was infatuated with the assassin before this, by now she was in love with the girl.

A booming voice resonated through the dark hallway, making Rachel's breath hitch with surprise and mild terror. _"Enter, Fantôme. But only you and the girl; the rest of your squad shall stay outside. We have pressing matters to discuss." _The voice belonged to Suara, the third and the speaker of the Heads. Rachel felt Fantôme squeeze her hand to her ribcage. With a rumbling that shook the very core of the Earth, a pair of double doors swung inwards, a blinding white light enveloping the group.

Rachel didn't feel herself move, nor did she feel Fantôme take a step towards the light. But when she opened her eyes after the thunderous doors clicked shut, she found herself in a room much like a briefing room would be. The only difference, of course, was that in this Briefing Room, the walls were filled to the brim with weapons of every type and from every century.

They had screens made of tactile glass that monitored assassins and areas around the globe. Even giant, flat screen TV's that kept them up to date on everything going around the world. Sitting at the long, oblong, dark wood table, five figures stated at them through masks... Oddly familiar yet totally different masks.

These masks were black with red and silver details on them, whereas Fantôme's and the rest were white with blue and good details on them. Fantôme turned her body slightly so she was covering Rachel's tiny frame. At the action, one by one, the Heads started to laugh heartily. Rachel didn't understand what was so funny, and apparently, Fantôme didn't either yet she said nothing of it.

The Head sitting at the head of the table stood up once they were done laughing. At this quiet command, the rest of the Heads stood as well. Otak, the first Head, regarded Fantôme silently, gauging her in a most frustrating way.

Blurred movement to their left had Fantôme bracing an arm out to push Rachel behind her, tuning slightly to the left, right hand out holding a knife and coming face to face with two obscured figures. Waterfalls of midnight locks greeted her eyes as her brain registered who the figures were. Hazel eyes flitted around a pale face and shocking blue eyes; Zane stared at them from her place on the sidelines.

On Zane's right side, another girl stood. About Zane's height, a girl with blonde hair threaded with electric blue and hot pink streaks. A nose ring shyly winked at them in the dim light; dark brown eyes seemingly darker with the eye shadow, combined with high, pale cheekbones and soft-looking, pouty lips.

Mina Viano, or Azrael, also stared at them; toned arms crossed in front of her chest, weight on one leg, graceful eyebrow quirked as she looked them up and down. She was observing and assessing whether or not Rachel was much of a fight. Already knowing Fantôme was a big threat, Mina didn't want to leave any gaps open.

Fantôme raised herself to her full height, knowing intimidation might not work on the rest of the people in here but it was as good a tactic as anything else. "Azrael. Zane, what are you doing here? Did you get any info on the matter I had you look up for me?"

"_Oh_, so it was you the one that sent poor Zane snooping around! The antivirus I set out after her almost fried her whole system. Crashed her hard drive, all for what? To find out what's going on with your little girlfriend? And speaking of your little girlfriend, that's the subject we gotta talk about." Festplatte, the second Head and master hacker for the League, spoke up.

Fantôme bowed her head as she spoke with determination, "My apologies, Head Festplatte. It wasn't my intention to send Zane on a technical suicide mission. I just needed the info right that second; some guys are following us, trying to kill us. I don't know if I'm right, but I have a deep hunch that Rachel is involved _somehow _in all of this." Her voice rang out throughout the room; Rachel's heart sped up when she didn't hear Fantôme disproving the statement about being her girlfriend.

"And you're right. She is involved, but not directly. Indirectly is where we're headed with all of this." Otak turned his statements and questions to Rachel, smiling softly at her through the slits of his mask. "Miss Berry, have you ever heard of something called the Shadow Plot? Or the Assassin Codex?" Rachel's brow furrowed; she had heard those things but she didn't remember when, where or in what context.

She nodded her head nonetheless, and Otak assented, "I was sure you would. Miss Berry, the reason these thugs want you, alive first and foremost yet dead anyhow, is that they believe you know where the plans for the Shadow Plot are hidden, and what the whereabouts of the Assassin Codex are." Rachel's confused expression deepened in her beautiful face, and she opened her mouth as she shook her head.

Otak beat her to the punch, "You might know where they might be, we would know this for your father, Leroy Berry, was the one to develop them during his time with the League." Shocked, breathless gasps filled the room. Rachel's eyes widened as her stomach dropped. _My father? That's not possible!_

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><p><strong>Oh, fuck... Who didn't see that one coming? Rachel's dad being an Assassin in the League? What the fuck am I smoking? Hahaha :p<strong>

**And now we've met all the Heads... who peed themselves? *raises hand* Just me, again? GODDAMNIT!**

**In descending order, the Heads are:**

**Otak, which is brain in Malay  
><strong>**Festplatte, which is German for hard drive  
>Suara, which in Indonesian means voice<br>Pravda, mentioned in the pervious chapter  
>Eochair, indirectly on the second chapter <strong>

**Up next, Rachel deals with this huge secret of her father's... Quinn and the rest of her team plus Rachel go to Lima, Ohio, the place that saw Quinn being brought into the world... and later witnessed the tragic judgment call that brought her to her knees... Also Britanna, lots of Assassin love and developing Faberry feelings... Stay tuned :)**

**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW... I'm seriously thinking of putting a reviewing toll. I must get x amount of reviews before posting the next chapter :D Think about whether you wanna review right now or not :) It's your call whether you get the chapter early or not...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright, so this chapter introduces everyone with their real names, for those of you that had a hard time keeping up with the assassin names (as awesome as they are). I'll post a note at the end of the next few chapters to remind everyone of who's who assassin-wise.**

**A lot happens in this chapter... I went on something I call a philosophical rant; I've been doing that a lot lately. I probably added a bit of socialism and fascism in there as well, but since I don't remember what the fuck either of them are, I'm just gonna say I added both... But then I went back to my usual self... Sorry I went out on that tangent.**

**Without anything else to say... WAIT! Next chapter, the plot starts to get weird... Like I told one of the reviewers, this is very Mission: Impossible meets the Da Vinci Code, with Faberry, Assassin's Creed and a whole lot of other crap coming together in this melting pot of EPIC FANFICTION WRITING! (...I hope)**

**To Chopin44, Azrael WILL be speaking more by next chapter, this I SWEAR!**

**I think that may be it... and if it's not... oh, well**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>Gasping, the blood thundering and rushing in her ears, Rachel felt Fantôme grab her arm in a firm grip, fearing the brunette would faint. <em>My father? Daddy... all this time... did he even tell dad? Does dad know what daddy used to do? Heck, maybe still <em>does_? _Tears fell from her eyes, but she couldn't feel them burning paths down her cheeks.

Turning abruptly, she wound her arms around Fantôme's neck, burying her tearing face in the blonde girl's chest. Fantôme snaked her own arms around the sobbing girl's waist, pulling her tighter against her tall, lean frame.

If this were any other person in any other situation, Quinn would probably reject them and refuse to show compassion or vulnerability in front of the Heads... but this was Rachel, and the girl was obviously broken by the thought of her father keeping something _this_ big from her. Given, it was necessary for her safety and wellbeing to be kept in the dark from such dangerous matters, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

All five Heads looked on, their masks keeping their owner's emotion hidden from public and prying eyes. Yet all five knew what the other was thinking: _promoting Quinn Fabray to Elite Assassin had been the smartest move they've made since the beginning of the League._

Strong and focused in her tasks, responsible with her actions towards her targets, but compassionate and forgiving to those who deserve it; good judge of character, mature, ambitious... In few words, a valuable ally and a deadly foe. Clearing his throat gently so as not too interrupt the tender moment between the two girls, Otak received a nod from the remaining four Heads.

"Fantôme, we have discussed this since Festplatte caught Zane hacking into the system... and we all have agreed that the best thing right now, to ensure the safety of Miss Berry, is that you and your team become her personal bodyguards in the mean time that we figure out who is after her and... dispose of them." Otak's voice was soothing in its velvety soft baritone, almost a palpable caress when it reached the two embracing girls.

Fantôme nodded at Otak's orders, but felt that there was something They still had to tell her. "In order for this to happen, as well as for Miss Berry to retain some semblance of a normal life and to prevent raising any suspicions from your foes," Otak stopped and weighed his words, carefully choosing them from his vast array of mental thesauri, "you, and your team, must give up your secrecy. This means that, unless you're on a mission, your masks are off at all times. We give you carte blanche on what to tell her when she asks. From now on, and unless the situation requires it, you are Quinn Fabray, and your team will revert to their given names." Quinn nodded her head, while Rachel wondered if the blonde beauty currently holding her could hear the loud thumping of her heart.

_Quinn Fabray; what a wonderful name. _Rachel's thoughts were ripped from her brain when she felt Quinn's strong arms leave her body. She looked up with wide chocolate eyes as Quinn's hands found her mask and pulled it away from her face, the metallic alloy straps holding it behind her head receding into their holding cells. What met her eyes had Rachel gasping for breath. Luscious blonde and pink locks arrayed in a wild mane, perfectly arched eyebrows, striking hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a perfectly sloped nose, full pink lips pulled lightly up in a small smirk, and a strong yet delicate jawline... _This woman is gorgeous!_

An eyebrow arched up towards the blonde's smooth forehead, and Rachel's mouth snapped shut. The two girls turned back to the Heads, "Now, if there's nothing more to talk about, _Quinn... _You, and your team, may leave. We will contact you... _when your services are required._" With that final word, the two girls turned, and they felt Zane and Azrael fall in behind them. The white light enveloped them once again, and they were back in the obscured hallway.

A deep voice cut through the palpable silence, "So... who's up for some midmorning training?" The assassins all laughed and agreed to hit the League's training and weight room. They needed to be in tiptop shape for their mission to stop Rachel's assailants. They could never be too sure about what they may encounter.

A small whisper cut their chatter, "How about introductions first? Since you guys are going to be around me for a while, at least I'd like to know who I'm working with." Quinn laughed at how timid yet professional Rachel sounded, and casually draped an arm over the tiny girl's shoulders. "She's right, of course. The Heads have said that we are to be unmasked when we're with Rachel, and she'll need to know our names. So I suggest we go back to her place and introduce ourselves, since we also need to change our clothes to go train."

Again, agreeing voices filled the hallway as they walked out of the darkness and into the sunlight that filled First Street. Rachel looked again at Quinn's beautiful face, still in awe that someone so beautiful could be an assassin.

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><p>They got to Rachel's place, and their eyes were met with four seemingly young guys, all of them carrying guitars and a bouquet of roses. The guitarists stood up as Rachel and the Assassin troop reached the landing, deft fingers strumming the chords and the hallway filled with beautiful music. Swaggering down the stairs leading to the upper floors, Jesse appeared, clad in a midnight black tuxedo with a blue silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top, holding a single red rose between his thumb and forefinger.<p>

"I know you told me that we were over for good, but I don't believe that, Rach. We are good for each other; you have seen how great we are when we're together, but you only try to focus on the bad. It's like you're actively looking for a reason to dump me, to make me seem like the bad guy so you can run out on me and back to that suicidal jerk and his death tricks."

He knelt down and grabbed Rachel's hand, holding up the rose while flashing two rows of perfectly straight and white teeth. "So please, cut this joke short and take me back. I know it was just an elaborate fluke to see which one of us would come back, and here I am. So what do you say? Send the bodyguards back to guard the Queen while we get inside your apartment and make endless happy?" Throughout the whole speech, Rachel felt the assassins behind her stiffen, and she knew that if she didn't get Jesse out of there quickly, he could very well end up dead.

She tugged her hand back, and Jesse's smile fell. "Leave, Jesse. I've said it once and I'll say it again, we are over. I don't want to see you anymore, I don't want you coming around, I don't want you buying me things to see if I'll break. I'm not going back on my decision. I'm not going back with you or with Damien, so please leave me alone."

Jesse's lips twisted into a snarl and he grabbed her by the arm, his finger squeezing the tender flesh and muscle beneath them. "Listen to me, you stuck-up, little slut! Without me, you have nothing. You _are_ nothing. So cut the shit, stop being a bitch and accept that I'm the best thing you're going to get. No one else will want to put up with you and your high maintenance diva ass." Rachel whimpered as his fingers dug harder into her arm, obviously leaving painful bruises that she'll have to cover up tomorrow.

But then, the painful pressure left her suddenly, and she heard the thump of a body being thrown onto the floor. "You are going to listen to me, you little shit. First, you're going to apologize to Rachel. In fact, she's the best thing you are going to get and you lost your chance. Second, you are going to leave her alone, otherwise I'm going to chase your scared little ass to hell if I have to. And third, just because she knows what she wants and has high standards doesn't mean that no one will put up with her, they'll just have to understand that this is the way she is. Take it or leave it. Are we understood?" Jesse nodded, his split lip sending droplets of blood flying around the floor.

Quinn stood up, pulling Jesse along with her, and pushed him towards Rachel. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You won't have to put up with me any longer." Quinn pushed into his lower back with a finger, urging him to finish. "I'm also sorry for losing my temper, and for all the times I put you down. It's my own fault I lost you and I hope you can someday forgive me." Feeling Quinn's finger leave its place on his back, he left without another word.

Rachel smiled shyly at Quinn, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Quinn ducked her head to try and subtly avoid the intense chocolate gaze the brunette was sending her way. She could feel the small hairs at the back of her neck standing on end as Rachel's eyes stayed nailed onto her.

Deep and amused grunting got them out of their publicly intimate moment. "Are we going into the apartment anytime soon or should we leave so you two can make goo-goo eyes at each other?" The six assassins laughed at Aillador's jab as Rachel's face burned from her blush and Quinn's jaw visibly tightened.

Turning on her heel, Rachel inserted the lock onto the keyhole and opened the door, leaving it wide open for the assassins to go in. "We should probably start looking for a bigger place, and a lot more private, as well. If Jesse and Damien, and however many other ex-boyfriends you have, are going to come and beg you to give them another chance, I don't want to be the one throwing them out on their asses. I think we all have a bigger priority now." Quinn pointed out with the other assassins nodding their head at the suggestion.

"It should be somewhere with a lot of open ground and not a lot of trees so my computers can have clear access to the League's database." Zane pointed out. Rabobirdo put in her own ground plan, "We could use the open ground for training and conditioning outside as well as long-range weapons, and we could set up a gym inside, with weights and mats so we could practice hand on hand combat and weapons that are better suited for close range." All these things were falling into place; Quinn could see it in everyone's eyes.

"Gates will be important, walls surrounding the perimeter, with guards posted at each entrance. Cameras surveying the grounds, stuff like that so no one can get in unnoticed." Aillador's deep voice brought an idea to Quinn's head. "Make it a League Headquarters and safe house. We could house more recruits, we could split experienced assassins with the League's Primary Location so they get to teach there as well as train. That way, we'd get 24/7 assassin rotations. With the number of experienced killers this place will have, only a suicidal man would dare to cross the gates."

Their eyes reflected the joy and adrenaline these newly opened possibilities brought to them. They could expand the League, with Headquarters in every corner of the world. A new opportunity to have a tightly knit organization of assassins, working together globally to instill fear in the hearts of criminals and decrease the crime rates around the world. But Quinn knew that the perfect equilibrium, Utopia, was impossible to achieve. Even the most perfect of societies were imperfect.

Sometime ago, the Heads had always been talking about bringing about the change that mankind has strived for from the start of civilization and through millennia of chaos. _Ordo ab Chao,_ they used to say. Order from Chaos, a new world rebuilt from the ruins of great empires. Bringing much needed peace to the world while still retaining each countries' individuality and government. It would've taken time, and lots of effort; blood would've been shed, loss of lives would've piled up, but resentment and pain would've brought about brotherhood and an extended sense of understanding.

This all sounded good and well, but the Heads also knew that the world would collapse faster this way than it has been for the past couple of centuries. The world took extreme care of destroying and rebuilding itself, resetting the course of history from zero. It was a cycle that had been repeated over the centuries, sometimes perfected, other times corrupted, but always done in times when the balance of the Earth started to fall apart.

_Assassins are not good to us if they fail to understand the precarious balance on which the Earth now stands._ They did this to help people, but in order for the balance to be preserved, the criminal number could not be the only one to drop. All assassins knew this, but only a selected few were briefed over the subject of their deaths days, weeks, months, even years before it happened. These assassins were known as _electus sacrificia, _from the Latin meaning 'chosen sacrifices'.

These assassins accepted their fate, and considered being elected to be sacrifices, from among all the other assassins, a big honor since their deaths would restore the fragile equilibrium of the Natural World. They could do everything a regular assassin would do up until the chosen time on which they would die.

None of their group was an _electus sacrificium_, but they had witnessed the death ritual that took place when the time came. The names of all the assassins chosen to the _electus sacrificium _circle were unknown to the rest of the organization; only the Heads and each other knew the names of everyone in the circle.

Breaking of away from her musings, Quinn realized everyone was staring at her. "What?" Her hazel eyes surveyed everybody in the room, feeling like something was amiss. "Your mask, Fantôme! Why don't you have it on?" Rabobirdo's voice brought her mind around to what the Heads told her she needed to do.

"The Heads have ordered for us to be Rachel's guards. We're to spend our time around her, protecting her from anyone that could cause her harm. For Rachel to keep some kind of regular routine, They also said to have our masks off unless we're on a mission. And we need to tell her our names, our real names." Silence fell upon them like a cold sheet of morning dew, and all at once, four hands reached up to their respective owner's face, pulling the mask away.

Rachel's breath hitched for she was seeing the faces of her protectors for the first time. "Miss Berry, my name is Santos Jaramillo, at your service." Santos' deep voice vibrated through Rachel's chest as the giant gently held her dainty hand in one of his massive bear paws, bending his head down to her.

"I'm Drew Myles, Miss Berry." Beautiful platinum-blonde hair cascaded as Drew bent her head over Rachel's hand. "Santana Lopez will kick bitches' asses at your command." Deep black eyes stared into her own, a wave of luscious raven-colored hair falling down over a strong shoulder.

"Brittany S. Pierce, I ride unicorns into battle. I can lend you one if you want." Rachel's lips pulled up in a smile at this quirky and bubbly blonde. "Abigail Renieri, Miss Berry." Smooth pale skin enveloped her tan hand, and Rachel found herself comparing this skin tone to Quinn's. "Mina Viano, Miss Berry." The girl didn't look at her as she was stating her name, but her eyes seemed locked onto Zane's.

Her hand was grabbed one last time, the innocent touch sending shivers down her spine and making her heart skip a beat. "Quinn Fabray, Miss Berry. At your every wish, command and... _fantasy_." Rosy lips brushed every so lightly over her knuckles, the huskiness of Quinn's voice arousing Rachel. What was this girl doing to her? And why was she _okay_ with it?

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><p><strong>Okay, that's all for this chapter. REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!<strong>

**Fantôme - Quinn  
>Rabobirdo - Santana<br>Jhēra - Brittany  
>Aïllador - Santos<br>Lismare - ****Drew (Myles) Since Zane's brother is also named Drew, I feel the need to specify between the two since Zane's brother Drew will be coming back.  
>Zane - Abigail<br>Azrael - Mina**

**I think repeating myself is good for you guys to do what I want you to do: REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW. Some of you are dreading the review toll that I'm thinking about; if none of you want it, make sure you review. For those of you that don't want to review, I'm basically punishing everyone else that wants the next chapter fast because you don't review... Don't be a douche and help out your reader peeps :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**So I had my beautiful girlfriend Beta this for me... cause apparently I can't spell (any current spelling errors, it's her fault not mine) :D So I wanna give her a thank you. Brittany, I love you so much and thanks from the bottom of my heart for helping me with this one :)**

**Chopin44: I didn't mean for Azrael to come off as an arrogant, cocky little bitch... but I'll turn her around as the story goes on :)**

**Nuttin' else comes to mind, so...**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p>All introductions out of the way, the assassins went about the task of changing their clothes to go and train. The adrenaline spikes in the apartment were palpable, as even Rachel was excited about this. An ear piercing <em>beep<em> had everyone scrambling around to take cover, not knowing what this sound meant. After seconds of confusion, Rachel's head popped up from where she was laying on the floor, between Abigail and Mina.

"Wait! That's my phone. Sorry about that," flushed to the tips of her ears, the Broadway starlet went to the living room coffee table, where her bedazzled phone awaited, a blinking light telling her she had several missed messages and phone calls. She had an ominous feeling about what those messages contained, thinking _my director is gonna kill me. I basically missed a week's worth of rehearsals... I'm so totally screwed._ She picked up the phone, almost afraid it would take on a life of its own and yell at her for missing rehearsals.

Holding the device firmly in her hand, she was about to open her text messages when a personalized rendition of 'Don't Rain on my Parade' blared from the tiny speakers, startling the diva and her guests. Quickly recovering and not looking at the caller ID, Rachel answered the phone. "Hello, this is Rachel Berry speaking."

_"Rachel? Where the hell have you been? Do you know how much shit I had to take for you the last few days because you missed rehearsals? Andrew thought you were out gallivanting with one of your many guys... Or worse off yet: with Damien or Jesse."_ Rachel could hear Maddie, one of her co-stars and good friends, shivering on the other end of the line. _"I didn't know what to tell him; you usually don't get sick, so that would be an obvious lie. I did all I could to get him to drop it, but I couldn't convince him that you had a really good motive for being out._

"_Seriously, though, Rach. You're my friend and everything, but if I keep covering up for you, I'm gonna get my ass thrown out of the play, and you know how much I need this. So please, show up to rehearsals today. They start at 1:30, it's going to be a beast of a run through, putting up the final touches for opening night, which is in a week, if you remember."_ The fatigue in Maddie's voice made Rachel's shoulders droop with an unseen sense of guilt. She hadn't thought that Maddie would cover for her

"Yeah, Maddie, I can totally make rehearsals today. And I'll talk to Andrew about the past few days. Thanks for covering for me, I really appreciate it. You're a great friend, Maddie." She smiled lightly at the obvious blush that coated Maddie's voice when she got out a 'you're welcome' before hanging up the phone.

Placing it in her bag, she strode into her room, locking the door behind her. The assassins heard the unmistakable sound of the shower coming to life. "So..." Drew dragged out the word as the assassins stood in the otherwise dead living room, "who's going with her?" Seven pairs of eyes gazed at one another, gauging who would willingly give up training to shadow and guard the diva.

"I'll go," Abigail's voice cut through the suffocating blanket of silence, "It would be good to gather some more intel on her as well as her routine, co-stars and other people that could influence her and her decisions." Nodding along to Abigail's reasoning, the rest of the assassins looked around again; they needed at least two people to go with Rachel.

"I'll go with her!" Both assassins looked at each other as they spoke in unison; Quinn's jaw tightening lightly as Mina's dark eyes cut to the pink streaked blonde. Electricity crackled menacingly between the two women, standing ramrod straight, their gazes intense as they tried to scare the other into backing out. "Alright, guys, I gotta go now; otherwise, I'll be late and I can't have Andrew painting a target between my eyes." As a brunette hurricane tore through the living room, the dueling assassins broke their staring contest, choosing to have three guards with Rachel instead of two. Noticing Rachel was not in the near vicinity anymore, Quinn sighed in annoyance.

Sprinting down the stairs, Quinn quickly caught up with Rachel, her nerves going haywire about leaving the brunette alone. Her relief at seeing the petite woman boarding a cab was short lived when she was tackled to the ground by a bulky frame, groaning in pain as her assailant's hands pushed her shoulders down into the ground further, her collarbones burning under the pressure this guy was putting on them.

"Stay down, lass. I don't want to kill such a pretty girl. Just stay down and out of my way while I take the girl; no fights, no fuss, no mess." A heavily accented voice rasped out in her ear, the sickening scent of alcohol reaching her nose, making her stomach roll. She felt the man standing back up, keeping still as she waited for her chance to strike.

_There!_ Her eyes widened as she recognized her opportunity to strike, her breath quickening with adrenaline as she basically did half a push-up and leapt up to slam her body into the middle of the guy's back, regaining her balance with quick feet as the guy fell to his hands and knees, slightly winded but not completely defeated.

Reaching out a meaty paw, he encased her ankle, restraining her movement. He grunted as the blonde tried to pull her foot out of his hand, choosing to just kick him in the face with the sole of her free foot when she couldn't get free. Howling in pain as his nose broke from the impact, he powerfully pulled his arm back, dragging Quinn down once more. She felt the skin of her jaw breaking as it scraped along the pavement; she quickly looked up to see the cab in which Rachel was, driving away into the heavy traffic of NYC. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, which quickly caught again when she saw three other guys dressed in black camouflage suits running after the cab, dodging traffic and other obstacles. _Parkour runners, really?_

Quinn felt Lucky the Giant Leprechaun crawling up her body, pinning her down by fitting her lithe hips between his legs. Onlookers crowded around them, muttering about the depravity of the situation. Quinn managed to catch a hushed 'don't they have any morals? To dry hump in a public place, what has this world come to?' She wiggled under him, freezing when she felt his dick twitching inside his pants.

Twisting around, she managed to dig her knee into the soft underside of the guy's crotch, painfully pressing her knee into his balls. He whimpered and fell heavily atop her, catching himself on his hands. A stronger crotch shot and a powerful shove to the side, and Quinn managed to get him off of her. Quinn straddled the guy's midsection, grabbing his collar and landing five solid punches to his face. Regaining use of his motor skills, Irishman blocked Quinn's punch with his hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around her hand and using her momentum against her, striking out with his own punch.

Quinn felt the blood pooling in her mouth, quickly spitting it out. She didn't get enough time to recoil for her next strike; with the luck of the Irish on his side, Paddy O'Brien lunged forward with his head, striking her forehead with his own. Dizzy from the hit, Quinn managed to land an elbow against the side of his neck; strong enough to momentarily cut the blood flow to his brain, making him spasm.

She pushed down on her arm as the guy's face turned purple, his fingers lifelessly trying to wrap around her own neck. Quinn felt him go limp, and pressed two fingers to his jugular. His pulse was weak but there, so she stood up, dusted herself off, and started to run down the street, leaving a gaping crowd behind.

Her legs burned as she sprinted down the street. She may not do Parkour, but she knew how to run, jump, dodge obstacles, and do all kinds of tricks the free-runners did. She just did each of them individually; but now, this called for her to fit them together.

Cars honked obnoxiously around her, but her ears were shut out to everything; she couldn't let anything distract her from reaching Rachel's cab. Her only way of tracking down the cab she was looking for: follow the dark clothed street ninjas that were in hot pursuit of the same vehicle, and most importantly: the girl that currently occupied it.

She saw as one guy get basically run over by an oncoming car, but he quickly recovered, rolling on his back over the shiny hood. His eyes caught her moving form and he pulled out six sharp throwing knives, the sunlight catching the smooth alloy. She knew what she had to do... and she had to do it fast.

She switched her course just a little off to her right, heading straight to the guy still perched on the car's hood. The pissed off driver, who had been shouting at the ninja to get off of his car was quieted quickly as his eyes found those knives. Discreetly he pulled out his cellphone, dialing 911, but he was caught.

A resounding bang reached Quinn's ears as the ninja shot the driver of the car he was crouched on. At point-blank range, she knew there was no way he could've missed. Training his eyes back on her, the ninja decided to play with her some more, and holstered the gun. As he was about to throw a knife, she lunged. He was two seconds too late as her body collided against his own, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Quinn quickly tucked and rolled as her leap had taken her from one side of the car to the other. With her arms firmly around the guy's shoulders, she pulled with all her strength, feeling how her momentum aided her on this. He was airborne for all of four seconds as Quinn released him, not realizing how painful his landing would be.

His body turning diagonally, his back slammed against a light pole, the speed and force of the throw pulling on his feet and torso, even after he was inert, so his back bent and broke at the point of impact. His body landed on the pavement in front of the pole, a broken mass of purpling flesh and broken bones. She had no time to stop and think about what this meant; she broke into a run again, pushing her body to the limits between bearable pain and bone-breaking agony.

Jumping over cars, landing flips while running through a busy street, the two remaining ninjas had no idea they were being followed. Their eyes never wavered from their target: a small brunette that could very well hand them the world on a silver platter.

Landing a gorilla jump and sprinting down the empty sidewalk, one of them managed a long jump that landed him safely on top of the taxi's roof. Inside the car, Rachel jumped in surprise, the cab driver looking out through the windshield, trying to see what the fuck had just landed on his roof.

Adrenaline shot through Quinn's body when she caught one New York ninja's crouching on the roof of Rachel's cab; her mind unforgivingly wandered away from her when she needed her sharpened senses the most. Getting kicked in the gut while standing still hurts like fuck, especially if you're not prepared for it... but it's no match for a kick to the gut while running at the highest speed your body can manage.

Slumping down on the street, holding her abdomen as she gasped for breath, Quinn cursed her impromptu loss of focus. A roundhouse kick to the face made her snap back to reality, quite literally. Her cheek hurt from the impact, her neck throbbing from the sudden twist. Noticing the ninja rearing up for a second strike, Quinn anticipated it. She blocked it with her elbow, turning her torso so she could hook the kicking leg with her other arm. Pulling on the leg, she drove her palm through the shin bone, effectively breaking it.

Yelping in pain, the black-clad assassin didn't even notice Quinn standing up and looking down on him... He didn't notice her boot stomping on his face, either. A satisfying _crack!_ made Quinn grimace lightly, her cheek on fire after the kick it had been subjected to. Rachel would freak if she saw Quinn like this...

_Dammit! Rachel!_ Running once again, she still had a nice view of the cab Rachel was in... She only had to look for a shiny yellow car with a ninja on its roof. The only problem was getting there fast. She jumped on top of the roof of a car as well, and she started running once more, the pain in her abdomen momentarily forgotten as her brain told her one thing: _get to Rachel and save her, before it's too late!_

Honks around her broke the thin veil of silence she had gotten herself into; Quinn could feel her legs turning to jelly with each step she took, each jump she landed and every stride the drive her closer and closer to her target: the rooftop ninja. _Where the fuck are Zane and Azrael? I could really use a hand!_

Dark eyes had seen her by now, dodging traffic like it was her day job. Conspicuously, he drew out a small dart gun, the sharp tip coated inanity a paralyzer... the same paralyzer used in the lethal injection. One small prick of this and the body starts to freeze up. Enough of it in one dose and the hearts and lungs freeze up as well; the ultimate killing poison, something that most people wouldn't even guess. Not even the strongest person can overcome its effects...

Loading it up to shoot, he aimed at Quinn, who had already seen him pulling it out. Burning pain flew through her entire body as the dart missed its intended mark, grazing the top of her shoulder. His head tilted to the side, the black-clad roof rider shrugged, preferring to let the paralysis spread slowly through her body.

A heavy feeling started to take control of Quinn's left arm, where the dart had grazed her shoulder. She couldn't let this stop her, though, she had to reach Rachel. Feeling that Galway numbness taking over the rest of her body, she pushed on, her will power decidedly stronger than the paralysis. She shook it off as if she were shaking off an annoying fly, and ran faster, smirking internally at the shocked face of the ninja.

Thankfully, the cab stopped mere feet away from where she was. As she saw the ninja moving to get off the roof, she tackled him as well, both landing hard on the street in front of the cab. Rachel got out as Quinn stood up, the ninja having been knocked out cold. Turning around when she heard ragged breathing, Rachel's eyes widened as she caught sight of Quinn's physical state.

"Oh my God, Quinn! What happened to you? Come here, let me see," feeling Rachel's warm soft hand on her cheek, Quinn's eyes fluttered close, leaning her cheek against it. A thumb caressing her cheekbone brought Quinn back around.

She pulled away from Rachel's hand, and stammered out an answer, "I... I saw you... getting in the cab... and... and... and you're not supposed to be left alone, you know that! So... when... when the cab pulled away, I started running... and... I... I tripped... on a pothole that I didn't see. But I'm fine, I'll be okay, it's just a couple of scratches" the bright blush on her cheeks and the obvious stuttering might've given her lie away, but Quinn would stand by her version of the story.

"Alright, then. God, let's get inside so I can clean some of these before they get infected," grabbing Quinn's hand with her own, Rachel pulled the pink streaked blonde inside Gershwin Theater, where the brunette's rehearsals had already started.

"_Rachel Berry!_ Where in the name of fuck have you been? And where the hell did you put your cellphone? All of us have tried to reach you at least a hundred times each, but you were nowhere to be found! And who is _this_? Please don't tell me she's your new toy... Coming out as a _lesbian_ while you're on the rise will do nothing good for your image." A short and fabulously gay man strutted up to them, his voice not rising in the least, making Quinn think that this was how he normally spoke.

At the mention of being a toy of Rachel's, she felt her heart constrict and a light blush coated her cheeks. Rachel, though, was not amused. "Listen to me, _Andrew_. Quinn's not a toy; she's my friend. And I would like for you to treat her with respect since she has done nothing to you. Furthermore, you don't get a say in which of my friends is better for my image or not. I'll be friends with whoever I want, and _Quinn_ just got herself beaten up just so we could get here," she found the lie came easy, and since Quinn was scraped and bleeding, Andrew had no choice but to believe her.

"And as for the reason why you couldn't reach me," Rachel swallowed around the sudden knot in her throat, "I'm afraid I can't say where I was." Andrew cocks an eyebrow at that, but decides to leave it alone.

"Whatever. Since you're here now, get in your costume so we can start your scenes. We got a week, people, and we have made near to no tangible progress!" With an exaggerated flip of his short hair, he turned around and strutted back to the center section, where he took his previous seat.

Rachel pulled on Quinn's hand, tugging her towards a dressing room. "Rachel, just get changed and go out there. I'll let you take care of these once we're home... I mean, back in the apartment. So I'll just... um... just... step outside... so you can change and... yeah." The flustered assassin stepped outside the dressing room, completely missing Rachel's tender gaze.

She pulled out her cellphone, and dialed Abigail's number. The other girl picked up after the first ring, "Jesus Christ, Quinn! Where are you? You ran out of the apartment, and by the time we were outside, you and Rachel were gone." Quinn chuckled lightly at this; to think that she ran from Rachel's apartment all the way down to Gershwin theater and Abigail and Mina were probably still at the apartment.

"We're at Gershwin Theater, for Rachel's rehearsals. But be really careful, guys. I got attacked as soon as I stepped out of that building, and I got into a little altercation with another three guys. I'm not badly beat up, but I just wanted to give you a heads up." Hearing Abigail's assent that they'd have their eyes peeled, Quinn hung up the phone just in time for Rachel to step out of the dressing room.

The diva's dress was snug against her frame, the deep red color contrasting beautifully against the tan skin. She was adorably biting her bottom lip, looking up at Quinn through long lashes. The blonde swallowed and turned away, hoping Rachel wouldn't see her blush. "You look... really pretty, Rachel. You should... uh... get on stage. I'll be on the risers." Quickly turning on her heel, Quinn strode away from the brunette, leaving her looking after her, confusion and hurt evident in her eyes. _Does Quinn not like me?_

Shaking those thoughts out of her head, she stepped out onto the stage, smiling brightly at Maddie. She ignored the breathy 'finally!' that came from Andrew and waited for her part to come. On the risers, Quinn watched the beautiful brunette intently, debating with herself whether or not a romantic relationship with the petite Broadway starlet was something she could hope to attain.

_She obviously likes us._

She's grateful about us saving her life.

_She looks at us with goo-goo eyes._

But her eyes hold a continuous tender gaze, and she's adorably easy to read. She could look at anyone with those eyes and it probably wouldn't mean the same thing from person to person.

_They sparkle when they look at us._

Trick of the light.

_She tries to always have our attention._

She's an extraordinary actress and singer, so the need to always be on the spotlight is understandable.

_She always wants to be near us._

She feels safer with us.

_She's always grabbing our hand._

She needs to know we're there.

_And what about the long hugs?_

She's probably just a huggy person.

_Give it up, Quinn! Why can't you accept that she likes us and that we like her right back? Make it easier on you, me and her._

I don't know if you've noticed, but we're assassins. We go around the world, chasing down low-life criminals and sending them straight to hell. What kind of life can we give to Rachel? She deserves better. She deserves to have a family, someone that can promise her to be back by her side every night... and that's something we can't give her.

_We may not be able to give her that kind of life... but you know as well as I that we can love her better than anyone else, because she loves us back. She's not going to give anyone else a shot because her heart is set on us. So just take the leap!_

This conversation is over, I'm not arguing with you whether or not pursuing a relationship with her is an option. It's not, and that's final!

Quinn got out of her head seconds before she felt two presences taking a seat behind her. Turning slightly, her eyes caught the familiar silhouettes of Abigail and Mina, their eyes trailing around the darkened risers, the only light coming from the stage.

Quinn had already swept the theater for anything or anyone that looked out of place; when she found nothing, her eyes had looked out into space, and her argument with herself had started. Now all she could think about was whether or not what she was doing was the right thing, for both herself and Rachel.

The small singer obviously liked her, but Quinn knew that she couldn't give her the normal life Rachel wanted. Quinn couldn't promise to show up on opening night and sit in the first row, looking up as the brunette owned the stage like she had been born to do. She couldn't promise Rachel to get home and sleep by her side very night... she couldn't even promise to be alive the next day, for her life had been on the line ever since she joined the League. And she couldn't have Rachel give up her dream of being on Broadway just because Quinn was selfish enough to want a life with her.

She wouldn't do that to the brunette; she may want her with all the strength her soul could muster, but she'd hold it in if it meant the brunette wouldn't get involved with her. The pink-streaked blonde was so caught up in her own thoughts, she missed the conversation going on behind her.

"Hey, Abby?" Smooth velvet caressed he raven-haired girl's name, and Abigail shakily took a breath. "Yeah?" She nearly jumped when she felt a hand take her own, but she settled down once again when a feather-light forefinger started to ghost over the sensitive skin of her palm. "You're really pretty, you know? I've noticed it... when you're breaking into our needed buildings and security systems through your computer," the finger stopped for a second as its owner breathed out huskily, "it's so _sexy_."

The digit resumed its previous path as Mina chuckled quietly into Abigail's ear. "But I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one that has noticed that. There are so many guys and girls in the League that would kill _anyone_ just to have a night with you. I've heard them, talking about how hot you are and what they would do if you showed the slightest interest in them."

Stopping completely, the lone digit joined its brothers and wrapped softly around Abigail's wrist, pulling it up for Mina to kiss it. She yanked it away, a confused look on her face as her eyes looked over the girl seated beside her. "What do you want from me? For years, you have played this game where you continuously pursue me, showering me with affection and lust and love... just to turn right back and act as if I'm nothing to you." Mina shook her head as Abigail spoke, tears drowning her eyes and voice.

Abigail stood up and walked out of the theater, Mina's eyes nailed to her retreating back. The multicolor-haired assassin wanted to go after her and say what she has wanted to for such a long time... but she felt that that would only make things worse.

So she stayed put, looking out onto the heavily illuminated stage where Rachel was singing her heart out to her male lead, who looked up at her from down on his knees, looking in severe pain and defeated.

Quinn was looking at the same thing, wishing more than anything that Rachel wouldn't look at her in that exact same way... That would make her decision to stay away from her much easier. But then again... when had her life ever been easy?

A lack of music brought her back around to the here and now, and she looked down onto the stage where the actors and actresses stood as the director, Andrew, talked about something that Quinn couldn't bother to hear. The cast was dismissed and they scattered out of the stage, as Andrew went back to his seat and picked up his things before he strode out of the theater.

"We'll wait outside, Quinn. We'll do a sweep and have a cab ready for when you two come out." Mina whispered into Quinn's ear, to which the hazel-eyed assassin nodded quietly.

They parted ways, one striding down to Rachel's dressing room, the other walking out of the theater, sweeping the streets looking for Abigail. She found her and shyly shuffled over to her, sitting down on the sidewalk besides the other girl.

The silence was awkward but neither girl wanted to have another argument out in public, so they left the silence hang while they waited for Quinn and Rachel.

* * *

><p>Inside the dressing room, Rachel was taking off the dress, silently fuming. How dare Andrew say what he had? Rachel was probably the only one that rehearsed harder than everyone else, always psyching herself up to believe that the current run-through performance was the last one before the actual show, and it worked just fine for her, since it made her give every performance her 5000%.<p>

Where the fuck did Andrew get off by saying she had not spent enough time rehearsing her lines, going over the songs, and making sure she stayed on top of things? What did he know? He didn't spend his time beside her, taking note on what she did, who she was with, where she was at a specific moment of the day. He had no way of knowing what she did.

Soft but firm hands gently pried the dress from her fingers, the digits holding the piece of clothing so tightly she was sure she could rip it if she pulled her arms apart just a centimeter. She turned to find Quinn looking down at the floor, not meeting her gaze. The quiet blonde took the dress and hung it on the rack, stepping outside of the room with a mumbled 'I'll give you privacy to change' thrown over her shoulder.

Dark brows furrowed over concerned pools of chocolate, _what happened to Quinn?_ She shook her head, choosing to ask about her brooding demeanor later. She changed quickly and went to the door, opening it slowly and softly tapping Quinn's shoulder to get her attention.

Pink and blonde locks swayed lightly as the taller girl only moved her head to look at her out of the corner of her eye, nodding and offering her an arm, escorting her out of the theater. Rachel couldn't understand why Quinn was acting this way; had she done something wrong and not realized it? Was Quinn mad at her? If so, what had she done? Rachel thought about her actions since that morning but could find nothing that would make Quinn mad enough to give her the silent treatment.

The pair walked out onto the sunny street, where Abigail and Mina, as promised, already had a cab waiting. The four girls got into the small vehicle, where Rachel had to basically sit on Quinn's lap when they found out they couldn't sit comfortably in the backseat. Rachel was about to give the driver her address when Quinn beat her to the punch, spouting off an address unknown to the small siren.

The driver looked at them as if they were crazy but given that he was being paid for it, he let it go and drive them silently to the aforementioned address. Rachel's eyes caught in Quinn's eyes a look she couldn't decipher; the same look was in Abigail's and Mina's. Where were they going? And why did the three assassins look... _extremely excited_ to be going there? Her questions would have to wait until they got _there_... wherever _there_ was.

* * *

><p><strong>Imma make this easy...<strong>

**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW...************

**And for those of you that still have trouble remembering:**

****Fantôme - Quinn  
>Rabobirdo - Santana<br>Jhēra - Brittany  
>Aïllador - Santos<br>Lismare - ****Drew (Myles) Since Zane's brother is also named Drew, I feel the need to specify between the two since Zane's brother Drew will be coming back.  
>Zane - Abigail<br>Azrael - Mina****

**********REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, ********REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, ********REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, **REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW...**************************************


	8. Chapter 8

**SEX!**

**Now that I got your attention, I owe everyone a HUGE apology. I've been acting like an ass to everyone, especially the guests. The one guest that said my attitude was condescending, you were totally right and I have no excuses for it. I think the idea of you guys actually liking my stories and wanting more of them just got to my head really quickly and I made the mistake to change my passion for writing for a shot at being really popular with you guys, even if you don't know me. I can't say how grateful I am that you have stuck by me, or my stories for those of you that don't actually like me, even after all the bullshit that has gone down surrounding me and some of my stories. I thank you all for your continued support to all of my fics, be them one-shots or multi-chapters and in whatever language I write them in. Again, I'm deeply sorry to all of you and I hope that, if you can't forgive me, at least you'll think about giving me another shot at redemption.**

**Without anything left to say, I bring you chapter 8.**

* * *

><p><em>It looks like I'm going to be blindfolded every time I go somewhere with these people,<em> thought Rachel, as her ears pick up the sound of the wheels on paved roads before it turns to gravel. _Maybe they all have some kind of subconscious bondage fetish that they're not aware of._

Quinn had placed a thick strip of cloth on her eyes and tied it behind her head as soon as the cabbie had the address they were going to. _I get it, protect their secrecy and what not._

Her always reliable ears picked up an almost indistinguishable change between speeds, and she feels how the cab begins to slow down straight after that subtle change. Underneath her, she felt how Quinn's body tenses up with an inordinate amount of pent up energy. "I just haven't been here in a long time. I've always felt the need for a good workout but none of the 'normal' gyms offer what I need to get my blood pumping." She heard Quinn mutter to Mina and Abigail. _A gym? Is that where we're headed?_

"We're here. That'll be fifty-seven with seventy-three cents." The cabbie's anxious timbre came from way too close to her ear and Rachel was sure she jumped.

A door opened up and she's slowly tugged out of the vehicle by a hand she recognized as being not Quinn's. She felt the pink-streaked blonde's presence behind her, naturally replacing the first hand with her own, their fingers lacing together of their own accord.

The brunette felt a thick coat of blush cover her cheeks, and she wondered for a second if the other woman's face matched her tomato impersonation.

She could feel the gravel crunch beneath her feet as she walked. Her ears also picked up the quiet swoosh of what she has come to recognize as the Assassins' masks closing.

Quinn's hand around her own pulled her backwards a bit, letting her know she'll have to stop soon. Soon came two minutes later when everyone's steps came to a head, and she heard an electrical hum and then a _ping_ followed by another, much louder, _swoosh_ and a burst of cool air.

She felt Santos' presence behind her, Quinn's on her left, Santana's on her right and Mina's in front of her. She guessed Brittany and Abigail were the front and back corners, respectively.

They marched in slowly, moving as a single unit.

The roaring silence was so thick it could be cut with a knife and it'd still be deathly quiet. Rachel, in any other circumstances, wouldn't have been able to hear a pin drop but in this somber stillness, she could've heard the ruffling of a feather touching the floor.

And it was this factor that let her hear the quiet, barely there rustling of cloth rubbing against cloth.

Coming from a spot further away than Brittany, who was the one up front.

Without thinking, she stopped dead in her tracks, Santos bumping into her from behind and grabbing her shoulders to keep her from falling.

Quinn pulled on her hand lightly, holding her attention. "Everything alright?"

"I heard something. Someone is watching us from up ahead." She answered, her voice hushed.

All six assassins heard her and were quickly using their sharpened senses to figure out their course of action. Santana was the first to lock in on their 'welcoming committee'.

"They're seven. I got four in my immediate field of vision. There's another one on my 8, a sixth one roughly at my 5 and the seventh one was moving around on a beam right above us." She quickly relays their opponents' positions.

"How do you even know about the one on the beam?" Rachel wondered, amazed. "And what do you mean 'was'?"

"I mean he was, cause he's no longer up there." The assassin explained.

"Where is he?"

"Zane's got him." Was the reply she got and, moments later, the Broadway starlet heard the dull _thud_ of a dead weight falling on the floor.

"Show yourself!" Quinn's voice growled loudly, waking a most primal need inside of Rachel. _Oh my Moses, why does she have to be so breathtakingly gorgeous and sexy?_

They all held their breaths as they heard cloth on cloth and then the sound of several bodies falling to the floor. The entering party of seven awaited their opponents' first move so they'd know to act accordingly.

"Well, well, well." A deep masculine voice dripped arrogance as it crawled all over the floor. "If it isn't the invisible and deathly Fantôme?" He chuckled breathily. "Where have you been? We heard you got a _really nice_ promotion and we've all been _dying_... to demote you. It's not everyday someone is given the rank of Elite and you know that everyone goes into a frenzy when someone steps up to the plate. You're the first to have _actually_ been promoted to Elite in about fifteen years, the rest having achieved it through assassination. How does it feel, _Fantôme?_ How does it feel to have gotten the rank of Elite... when _I_ have been here longer than _you_ and I'm _nothing more_ than a mere _3rd rank_ assassin?" His voice rose with his anger.

He stepped forward and the weak light fell over his face. His hair was short, almost nonexistent, for his head was shaved no more than two millimeters above his scalp. Down the sides of his face ran random patches of stubble, joining at his chin, where an unkempt attempt at a beard resided. He moved his head and the light hit the left side of his face.

Rachel visibly flinched at the sight.

Deep scars disfigured the left side of his face, running from his neck, up his jawline to right below his hairline. The left eye, which had probably been another color before his disturbing defacement, was an unnatural silvery gray orb held to his lidless socket by a small apparatus. He had a heavy limp, almost dragging his left leg and his body sagged to the same side, probably from the same mishap that costed him an eye. The sleeve of his white and green tunic was rolled up to where it the elbow should be... except that it wasn't. His face screwed up in a fit of wrath.

"That spot should've been mine! All your ranks since we were 2nd ranks together should've been mine! I've been here longer; I've killed more people! All of my targets are dead while you only achieved a meager 23% of assassination completion." He yelled, his words packing all of his fury.

"And that's why I got the ranks and you didn't." The pink-streaked blonde replied coolly. "You don't know when to spare someone's life, you kill everyone regardless of whether they did something deserving death or not. I am where I am because I know when to stay my blade, I know when to spill the blood and when not to."

"But you've also made your mistakes, haven't you? Ah, yes... You are responsible for the death of your family and your friends as well as the inferno that became your high school... all because you spared someone's life. All those innocent deaths staining your hands and your conscience... who's the one that doesn't deserve the ranks now? At least all the ones I've killed have been my targets... unlike yours, who were blissfully ignorant bystanders. Oh, how it must feel to know they're dead because of you... all that anguish, that pain... all that anger... pointed at nobody else but yo-ugh." The rest of his sentence was a gurgling, bubbling mix of nonsensical sounds.

In a second, Quinn was in front of him, her hand pressing harshly into the long thick needle she had skillfully embedded in his neck. "You don't have the privilege to talk about my family or my friends. You insult their memories by even thinking of them. I won't hesitate to kill you if you think you can get away with spitting on their names with your venom-filled tongue; I will cut it out before you do that again." She whispered fiercely, the needle digging further into his neck.

He gurgled something that Quinn took as an agreement, then she removed her hand, taking the needle out in the same motion.

The man holds his neck, silently and reluctantly praising her marksmanship; she didn't get his jugular, but she was close and that scares him, although he won't admit it.

The man and his group turned on their heels and fled the scene, leaving a fuming blonde, five silently worrying assassins and one amazed woman. Sometime during the confrontation, Rachel had taken her blindfold off and had witnessed the whole of it.

Quietly, Quinn went back to her team and was surprised when a pair of tan, toned arms wrapped themselves around her neck, her face suddenly hidden in a sweet scented neck.

Her own arms wrapped around the girl's tiny waist and she listened as Rachel whispered into her ear. "It's okay, Quinn, you're okay. He's gone; you're okay, baby, you're okay." She whispered as she ran her fingers through pink and golden locks; Quinn noticed the little slip of the tongue, but Rachel didn't seem to realize it.

"I'm all good, Rach. I'm okay." She assured the brunette, her own hands running up and down the small girl's back before settling on her hips and squeezing reassuringly, wrapping her arms tightly around the tiny songstress' back.

Rachel pulled away to look the assassin in the eye and although she saw pain, guilt and regret swirling about those stormy amber orbs, she decided to let Quinn talk when she was ready to. So she nodded and backed completely away, their, only slightly, interlocked fingers connecting them.

"Who was that guy?" She asked to no one in particular, but it was Santos the one who replied.

"His name is Charlemagne."

"Charlemagne? Why would he call himself that? Egocentric, narcissistic bastard." Rachel muttered and all the assassins chuckled.

"That's actually his _birth_ name. Or so he claims it is." Santana mumbled. "He convinced the Heads that no one would actually believe Charlemagne was his real name so he kept it as his assassin code name."

"Why would you name your kid _Charlemagne_?" Rachel questioned herself.

"I don't know. We're not sure if it is his real name, but since we can't prove it otherwise, we have to believe it's true."

"I bet he gets his rocks off with people calling him Charlemagne. He looks like the type of guy that likes to see others at his beck and call."

"That's because he _is._ He's the leader of his group, supposedly an innate one at that, but truth be told, he's as much an natural-born leader as Hitler was a great role model for world peace. Several assassins have deserted from his group and have begged and pleaded with the Heads to switch to another group. Why? Because _Charlemagne_, knowing the dangers of a mission, still sends his supposed comrades out in suicide missions and expects them to come back alive. Furthermore, his stupidity and lack of common sense during team-up missions has cost several other groups some of their best assassins that later had to be replaced and the newbies cost those groups several targets. His actions have consequences that have affected not only his group but almost all of the other ones. We've worked with him once and the only reason why my team is still complete is because a) they know better than to follow his orders and b) they're _exceptionally_ good assassins. I'm not saying the ones that died weren't good assassins, they were great but that's why I put that as the second reason. The first one alone would've saved their lives." Quinn ranted as they walked down the dimly lit hallway.

It appeared to be made of metal, like something out of a movie. The lights were blue LEDs but were spaced so far apart that their brightness didn't count for much. Rachel followed the silent assassins as they went further down the corridor.

"Hypocritical of him to call out Q- _Fantôme_ out on her past slip-up, when he himself got his brother killed. This team he's got is brand new." Santos muttered gravely.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"Charlemagne's brother, Napoleon..."

"Again, _actual_ name as well as assassin's." Interrupted Santana, earning herself a glare from Brittany and Santos.

"Right... Napoleon was a great assassin, lightning fast and with a keen and brilliant brain for strategy. When Charlemagne's recklessness and overall lack of leadership and problem-solving skills got one of his own assassins killed, Napoleon volunteered to occupy that space while a new member was assigned to Charlemagne's group. Napoleon had been the leader of his team, but when the Heads moved him to work on Intelligence and Data Recollection, he left his post to his second-in-command, Druhi... not _his_ real name. But, as I said, volunteered as filler when his brother lost another assassin. They went to Côte d'Ivoire, to Daloa to be exact, because Intel had picked up on a trail that had gone cold for several years, almost three-quarters of a century, that led them there. Charlemagne, at that time, wanted to earn his 1st rank and he knew that this would be the perfect opportunity to achieve it. Blinded by his own greed of power and desire for greatness and admiration, he went into battle unprepared and he couldn't do anything when they were ambushed."

Rachel's lips were in a tight line, the rosy color long gone, replaced by a paper white shade as she listened to the story.

"Napoleon as well as three others died as consequence of the ambush, the two others went into comas, one of them having a trauma-induced seizure then going into cardiac arrest and then dying basically overnight. While doing autopsy, the doctors found intra-axial hemorrhaging..."

"What?" Rachel inquired, confused.

"Bleeding within the brain..." Quinn started explaining nonchalantly..

"...which then turned out to be intraventricular hemorrhaging." Santos finished.

"...or, in this case, within the brain's ventricles." Quinn corrected, matter-of-factly.

The Broadway starlet started to turn a little green.

"He died not long after that, but the other guy... he's still in that coma. No one has any faith that he'll come out of it and he's reaching the time limit of how long he can be kept hooked up to the machines."

"How long has he been there?"

"Ten years. The doctors have kept him under rigorous observation day and night for the past decade because they have seen brain functions coming back to him. His hands have moved, the fingers flexing and releasing methodically, his neck rolling as if to get out any kinks from laying still for so long. Stuff of the sort." Santos shrugged, his big shoulders rising and dropping minutely.

"He's been receiving physical therapy since he's been in there, just in case he woke up but no luck so far." Drew piped in at that moment, then her brow wrinkled in thought. "Although, who can manage to move those mammoth limbs of his is beyond me."

Turning to Quinn, the tiny brunette queried. "What's the name of this guy?"

"Finn Hudson, a.k.a. Trold. He was recruited from the army when he proved to be good with any kind of long range weapon. As well as having a really good arm." Santos informed the diva, since Quinn had unexpectedly gone mute.

The shortest woman nodded as they came up to another metal door.

They had journeyed the corridor while they talked, making them not notice they had reached their destination.

Santos swiped his hand across the side of the door and a loud whirring echoed across the metal hallway before a mechanical female voice spoke up. _"Quanti il vostro gruppo?"_

"Otto." Santos replied in Italian, without hesitating.

Another bout of loud whirring then a virtual monitor with thumb pad popped up. He pressed his thumb into it and the monitor _beeped_.

"_Thumbprint match: Aïllador. Confirmed._" A monotonous robotic voice stated.

Drew was next. "_Thumbprint match: Lismare. Confirmed._"

Santana and then Brittany in quick succession, holding in their giggles but pouting when the machine spoke again. "_Thumbprint match: Rabobirdo. Confirmed. Thumbprint match: Jhēra. Confirmed._"

"Damn machine..." Santana grumbled as Brittany grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers.

Abigail lifted her hand to press her thumb but it was halfway met with Mina's, both thumbs pressing against the pad. Their eyes locked for a second before the monitor beeped loudly.

"_Error. Match not found._"

Abigail awkwardly retracted her hand and Mina pressed her thumb reluctantly into the pad.

"_Thumbprint match: Azrael. Confirmed._"

Abigail took her turn in pressing her thumb against the pad. "_Thumbprint match: Zane. Confirmed._"

Everyone looked at Quinn, who stepped up and placed her thumb on the pad. "_Thumbprint match: Fantôme. Confirmed._"

All the assassins moved aside to let Rachel pass to the pad, but the tiny starlet was uncertain of what to expect. _All of them are assassins, they belong here. If I put my thumb up on that scanner, I'll probably make us blow up for being an unknown or something._ She thought, but choked on air when firm but soft and warm digits wrapped themselves around her wrist, tugging on it firmly and making her walk forward.

Quinn was looking at her with understanding in her hazel eyes, which showed through the slits of her mask. The hazel-eyed beauty knew that Rachel was afraid, but wasn't about to let that fear conquer the brunette's thoughts.

Steadily, Quinn raised her hand, pulling Rachel's along, and with a quick flick of her wrist, had managed to place the Broadway diva's thumb against the scanner.

There was silence followed by three swift _beeps_ which were succeeded by an order from the monitor. "_State your name._"

Rachel looked around the assassins and felt a light push on her shoulder from Quinn's own.

"_State your name._"

"Ra-Rachel Berry." She stuttered.

"_Override code 2849677, accepted. Rachel Berry, thumbprint match: Confirmed._"

The virtual monitor disappeared and there was a burst of freezing cold air as the door opened in front of them.

Rachel gasped.

The gym was huge. Not height wise, since it was only two stories below ground but it took up a lot of underground space and every single inch was being used for some kind of physical or training activity.

On the ground floor immediately under them, more than two hundred treadmills were in use, the runners varying from moderate speed and inclination to running full throttle uphill. From their point of view, across from them was a set of double doors which led to a big room covered in mats, floors and walls.

On the right, visible through a wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling ballistics glass pane was a big man-made yard, the artificial grass perfectly groomed and where several bull's-eye were set up for long range white weapons.

Across from that, another set of double doors led to an obscured hall.

Literally obscured. There was no light going in or coming out of that space.

Rachel's jaw was on the floor as she watched all of these things right before her eyes.

This is... "Amazing!" She breathed out when her eyes were done roaming up, down, near and far the whole room.

"If you'd like a tour and are willing to try out some of the things we've got here, I'm sure you'll say it's more than just 'amazing'." The assassin whispered in her ear, making the tiny brunette shiver from the hot breath on her neck and the ghost of lips brushing against the outer shell of her ear.

She could just nod, her body being paralyzed from having Quinn's solid frame so close to her.

"Fantastic!" Quinn gushed with a smile and placed a hand on the small of Rachel's back, guiding her down a set of stairs, the other assassins following close behind.

Upon reaching the landing, the pink-streaked blonde tensed when a man approached them flanked by a pair of bulky dudes.

This man was well-built, not monstrous like his bodyguards. "Why, Fantôme, I would've thought you knew that bringing _victims_ or _other civilians_ to any location related to the League was strictly against the rules. But I guess even the best can screw up..." His green eyes creeped down Rachel's body like slime, slowly following every dip and curve of the young brunette's anatomy, while a lewd smirk took shape in his unshaven face. _What is it with these guys and disgusting facial hair? At least Aïllador's beard is neatly trimmed._ Rachel reflected as she looked at the wiry hairs on the man's jaw line.

"But, if she were with me, I'd probably fuck the rules as well... among other things." He winked at her but scowled when Quinn got even closer to her, fully wrapping her arm around her waist.

"Beat it, Roerk, or I'll do it for you."

"You gonna beat me, Fantôme? Think you can?"

"She go' promoted ta Elite. Methinks that counts fer somethin', don'ya?" A cheery Irish accent came to their rescue.

A pale, redheaded man approached the quarrying group. He didn't look to be younger than forty, his somewhat wrinkly face betraying the arduous years he's passed but his maple eyes sparked with joy and mischief.

"Get bent, Eire. This doesn't concern you." The man known as Roerk spoke, a thick vein popping dangerously in his forehead.

"Respect your elders, Roerk." Quinn growled.

"Respect is earned, not demanded, Fantôme. You better than anyone should know that." Roerk replied, spit flying everywhere.

"But tha's the thing, ain't it? She di'nt 'ave ta earn no one's respect, they just gave it ta 'er. Why? Because 'er 'ole aura deman's it from everyone, she 'erself di'nt say or do a thing." The Irishman vocalized.

"I'm getting real tired of your bullshit, old man." Roerk snarled, his green eyes flashing fiercely. The two ogres at his sides started to move, but stopped when Santos and Santana stepped behind Quinn, Rachel and the Irishman, their faces nowhere near friendly as the rest of the assassins flocking in around them.

Roerk scowled and scoffed, walking away from the group, the two ogres following hot on his heels.

"Thanks, Vid. You didn't have to do that. I appreciate it." Quinn smiled at the man, who grinned back.

"It was no problem, lass. Jus' don' let tha' big 'eaded Roerk ge' away wit anythin', especially when it comes ta ya." Vid waved goodbye and left.

"How about that tour, huh?" Quinn turned back to Rachel and gave her a small smile.

"Yeah. We'll go now."

"We'll be dispersed around the gym just in case you need a hand with any other problem that may arise. And we'll call in some more hands, as precaution, you know." Santana assured them and the six of them split up in pairs, heading in different directions: Santana and Brittany to the obscured room, Santos and Drew to the range and Abigail and Mina through a door under the staircase they had descended.

The pink-streaked blonde then clasped a firm, but gentle, hand around the brunette's wrist and tugged her along with a mischievous smirk on her face.

"We got a lot to see and not a lot of time to do so, since I also want to find out if you have potential to become an assassin. Just out of curiosity." She shrugged when Rachel sent her a confused look.

Quinn turned back to the front, not wanting to let Rachel see how crestfallen she actually was. _She likes us now, but I hope that will go away when we show her exactly what goes on with us... and why we can't be with her._

* * *

><p><strong>Roerk and Vid don't actually mean anything.<strong>

**Druhi - second in belarusian**

**Trold - ogre or troll in danish (I had to do it)**


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